


On Top of The World

by JosieMarieVivianWilkins



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, BPD Mickey, Bipolar Ian, Borderline Personality Disorder, F/M, Gay Sex, Ian doesn't know he's gay, M/M, Mickey is kind of OOC a little but not much I guess it's kind of circumstantial?, Rated explicit for future chapters because I'll forget to change it, Self-Harm, Smut, Suicide, Triggers, bipolar, institute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-04 06:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 65,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4128240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JosieMarieVivianWilkins/pseuds/JosieMarieVivianWilkins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian is finally diagnosed after a particularly consequential manic phase, and due to the illegalities of some of his actions is institutionalised by the court. Whilst inside, Ian makes an unlikely friend and has some even more unlikely experiences which will change how he views himself and the world around him completely.</p><p>'What goes up must come down'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, my first Gallavich fic. It was the first thing I did once I’d finished binge-watching and started rewatching Shameless all over again. So, it’s AU, and I think that’s about all I need to explain, everything else should emerge in the story or later author notes.  
> So, enjoy. You could even be fab and leave me some feedback if you really wanted to ;)

Ian stood in the middle of the room and looked around him. This felt right. It felt more than right – it felt _amazing_. In that moment, Ian felt on top of the world, like he could conquer any obstacle that was put in his way. But then he heard banging and voices, and he was suddenly running. Running as fast as he could, a huge grin on his face as he turned corners and jumped over the scattered people lying on the floor.

_Shit!_

Ian had come to a dead end. And without a thought, Ian was opening the window and launching himself out of it. In that moment Ian imagined what it would be like to be a bird.

Liberating.

Exhilarating.

 _Intoxicating_.

Ian took a deep breath in as he fell. Those were two and a half of the longest seconds he could ever recall. But they were over pretty quickly.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it came to Fiona, Ian caught her hand and said “Do you, uh, do you know why the nurse said I gotta’ have a psych evaluation?”  
> Fiona’s face fell a little. “You… you haven’t noticed, have you?”  
> Ian’s face was full of confusion, his brow furrowed. “Noticed what?”  
> “I… I think… well, we think that, uh, you might… you might be following in Monica’s footsteps a little… mentally…” Fiona looked down to her feet uncomfortably.  
> No. Ian was shaking his head vigorously “No. No, I’m not, Fiona. Why… why would you guys think that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know some of you might think the prologue was dickishly short and maybe even useless, it was what it was and exactly what I wanted it to be: erratic and scatty, like I imagine Ian's thinking to be during a manic episode. Also, thank you for your kudos and comments. So, here is chapter one. I will probably aim to update every week or half week, depending on how my creative juices flow.  
> Just a quick one. While all of the characters are ~three years-ish~ younger than current, Vee and Kev still have Gemma and Amy. The girls are the age they are in season five, but everyone else is about three years younger.

Lights. Really bright lights. Everywhere. It was all Ian could see when he tried to open his eyes. That harshness of the light stung when he finally cracked them open, so he closed them again. His mouth felt dry. A pathetic attempt at clearing his throat made no difference, so he begrudgingly forced his eyes open, squinting at the brutal whiteness that surrounded him, and pushed himself up from his laying position. He grunted at the pain that ran through his chest, but ignored it. When his eyes had adjusted, he looked around, hoping to find a drink. He struggled to turn to inspect his surroundings enough for a drink. But from the view that he did have, he found Fiona, asleep in a large chair, her brown curls handing around her face in a tangled mess, her face showing the signs of worry and sleeplessness in the form of dark shadows under her eyes.

“Fi… Fiona,” Ian croaked out, his voice meek, but still enough to rouse his sister.

“Ian?! Ian, you’re awake! Thank God!” Fiona choked out, her eyes brimming with tears as she stood up, calling down the corridor “Nurse? Nurse! My brother’s awake!”

There was a flurry of _Ian_ s called out, and the voices made their way in to the room, all of them barging their way through the door to pile on their brother. There were so many people around, Ian couldn’t think, didn’t know what to do or where to look, and suddenly his breathing was becoming sharper and quicker. He tried to breathe in, but it felt like there was a lump in his throat that wouldn’t budge, stopping him from being able to get any air. Fiona was the first to notice.

“Guys, get off him, give him some fucking space!” She came closer to him as the others moved away. “Get out for a minute, guys,” she told them, pouring a glass of water for him as she stepped towards him again, taking his hand and looking him straight in the eye. “Ian, you… you gotta’ calm down. Look at me. Don’t look away from me. We’re gonna’ breathe. That’s all we’re gonna’ do: breathe,” Fiona explained calmly, taking long, deep breaths.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t breathe. It was like he was drowning on air or something. He gestured to his throat, shaking his head as worry continued to overtake him, tears threatening to fall.

“You can. You can, Ian. You’re just havin’ a panic attack. Now look at me.” She put the water down and sat on the edge of the bed, taking his other hand and looking directly at him with the tears still in her eyes. “Just take deep breaths with me, hon, you can do this. Just slowly. Deep breaths.”

He could see the fear in Fiona’s eyes, he imagined it wasn’t too far from his own, but he tried not to focus on that. He closed his eyes, just listening to the sound of Fiona’s deep breaths, trying shakily to breathe in sync with her.

“That’s it. You’re… you’re doing awesome. Just keep breathing with me. Don’t stop. Don’t think of anything else, just focus on your breathing. Keep going.” His sister reassured him, her hands squeezing his comfortingly.

Ian could slowly feel his throat begin to gradually open up more. And soon he was breathing almost normally, just slightly laboured. Tears spilt down his cheeks when he opened them, looking to his big sister and seeing her own fear slowly seeping away, relief flooding her face. Ian ignored all of the pain he felt and allowed himself to lean in to the warmth of her chest.

“You’re okay, sweetie, you’re okay. We’re all here, we’re here for you,” she soothed, holding him close and stroking his hair gently.

“Ian Gallagher?” A small voice said.

“About fucking time. He’s just had a panic attack, but you guys were clearly too busy to come and help him,” Fiona said, her voice protective. She stood up so that she could get the water and handed it to him. “You got it?” Ian nodded in response, holding the glass in both of his hands, one of which he was now noticing was in a cast (his right). “Good. So, you gonna’ check him over or just stand there and watch?” She asked sternly, turning on the nurse.

“If you’d like to leave the room so we can examine Ian, please, Miss Gallagher?” The nurse replied, her voice wavering slightly for a moment as she avoided Fiona’s gaze. Ian now saw that the owner of the small voice was equally as petite as it, with blonde hair pulled up in to a harsh bun.

“So long as you’re actually gonna’ take care of him,” Fiona stared at the nurse hard for a moment before turning on her heel and walking out of the room to questions of how Ian was from their siblings.

“Hello, Ian, how are you?” The nurse asked. Ian didn’t know what she was thinking, so he just stared at her blankly. “Are you in any pain?” Ian nodded. “Where? And on a scale of one to ten,” Ian told her, and she said that they would up his morphine dosage. She then took some bloods, checked his chest with a stethoscope, and recorded his heart rate from the monitor.

“Now, do you remember what happened? Why you’re here, I mean.” Ian shook his head, his memory drawing a blank. “No? Okay, well, you fell out of a window. Two storeys up. You broke three ribs, cracked two, punctured your left lung, and have some nasty bruising on your chest. You’ve also got two broken bones in your wrist, a broken middle finger. Both of your ankles were sprained, but they should be on the mend, so walking shouldn’t be limited for too long, but again, a lot of bruising. But, you’re lucky that the ambulance was pretty quick, so, as you can see, we’ve patched you up. We’re gonna’ keep you in until you’re better. We’re also gonna’ do a psych evaluation, and then take things from there.” The nurse seemed to be reading from a list, her finger trailing down the clipboard she held as she spoke at Ian in such a fast manner that he struggled to take everything in. “Is there anything else you’d like to ask me?” Very slowly, Ian shook his head, and she nodded in response “Well, someone will be round to check on you in an hour or so. Call someone if you need anything. I’ll just sort your morphine and then I’ll leave you to get some rest.”

The nurse then left. He could hear her speaking to Fiona before his family came in to the room to see him again. “Now, guys, just remember not to overwhelm him, he’s been in a coma for four days, remember,” Fiona said as she took her place in the chair beside his bed again. “Go and get some chairs from the corridor, guys,” she told their other siblings.

“Hey, man,” Lip said when he’d brought a chair in and put it on the other side of his bed, his blue eyes glistening more than usual with tears of relief “how you doin’?”

“Yeah, all right. You guys? What’d I miss while I was away?”

Lip shook his head, replying “Nothing much, Frank upset Sheila, so we had him on the couch again for a week.”

“I’m class president!” Debbie exclaimed with a grin that stretched across her face.

Ian couldn’t help but grin himself, looking so much like his youngest sister when he did that. The pair of them definitely looked the most like they were related with their matching red hair that curled slightly and the spatter of freckles across their noses. Maybe the similarities which they shared so much in were one of the reasons he had such a soft spot for her.

“That’s awesome, Debs! Come here,” he told her, putting his arms out to invite her in for a hug. And then he noticed their youngest sibling wasn’t with them. “Where’s Liam?”

“He’s staying with Vee and Kev, apparently he’s been awesome at entertaining Gemma and Amy. Vee said he gets on so well with them,” Debbie told him after she had returned Ian’s hug.

“Ah, that sounds nice. Must be nice for the girls too. What about you, Carl? What have you vandalised? Break anyone’s bones? What is it this time?” Ian asked his younger brother with a smirk.

Carl looked to Ian proudly, his eyes already telling Ian that whatever he had done had not been good, “Broke some kid’s collar bone; got suspended for a week.”

Ian laughed lightly, saying “Well, sounds like I missed a lot.”

“Yeah,” Fiona put in, “So, where did you go? Police said they found you in some abandoned warehouse two states over with loads of people,”

Ian rubbed a hand up the back of his neck. “Not really sure where I was, but I just remember having a really awesome time, made loads of friends. It was great,” he cleared his throat before saying “I’m, uh, I’m pretty tired. You guys mind leaving me to get some sleep?”

The eldest of the Gallagher children nodded, saying “We’ll come by and see you tomorrow morning, yeah?” The siblings stood up and said their goodbyes to their brother before leaving his room.

When it came to Fiona, Ian caught her hand and said “Do you, uh, do you know why the nurse said I gotta’ have a psych evaluation?”

Fiona’s face fell a little. “You… you haven’t noticed, have you?”

Ian’s face was full of confusion, his brow furrowed. “Noticed what?”

“I… I think… well, _we_ think that, uh, you might… you might be following in Monica’s footsteps a little… mentally…” Fiona looked down to her feet uncomfortably.

 _No_. Ian was shaking his head vigorously “No. No, I’m not, Fiona. Why… why would you guys think that?”

“Ian, you know the nurse said that you fell out of a window?” Ian nodded slowly. “You didn’t. Police told us that you jumped out. Yeah? You jumped out of a second storey window, from an abandoned warehouse, full of naked people surrounded by drugs. And you’d been away for nearly two weeks. And before that you slept for four days straight. Can you not see how that could kinda’ look a little Monica-like?” Fiona took his hand, looking him in the eye earnestly.

“No. I can’t. I’m just having a little fun. And I was tired. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Ian said, his voice firm.

“Ian, honey… you… you need he-“

“Don’t tell me what I need!” Ian said, his voice louder, “Just leave. If you’re gonna’ be like this just don’t bother coming again.” He snatched his hand out of Fiona’s and looked away from her, feeling his eyes brimming with angry tears as his face burned with as much.

Fiona tried to take his hand again, but Ian pulled even farther away from her, “Ian…”

“Get out, Fiona!” Ian didn’t look at his sister as she left, he didn’t want to see the look on her face.

*** * ***

The psych evaluation didn’t go too well. When it came to it, Ian wasn’t in a good state. The nurses tried to get him to cooperate for the evaluation, but all he did was lay in his bed with the covers up to his nose and stare blankly at the ceiling. Ian didn’t know this, but he was suffering from a period of depression. He couldn’t be given any medication until he was evaluated, and he was not going to be evaluated. He wasn’t going to move if he could help it.

After two weeks, Ian finally seemed to return to his normal state, and he was begrudgingly evaluated. His siblings had been right, and he had inherited Monica’s vicious disease. The worst part about it, though, was that Ian didn’t believe it. He didn’t believe what he was told, that he had bipolar disorder, because… well, _he didn’t_. Like he told Fiona, he just had more fun some days than others. Of course, his denial didn’t help his case, and tranquilisers were involved. A lot of tranquilisers were needed in order to medicate Ian, and then he was admitted to an institution for four weeks (which was questionable dependent upon his cooperation), by the law. He was tried without being present as the outcome was arguably obvious to anyone, and it was that he would be institutionalised and not sentenced for the breaking and entering, use of drugs, and demolition.

Ian still wasn’t talking to his brothers and sisters, and was taken to the institute in an ambulance alone without seeing his siblings, only seeing the insides of the ambulance car that transported him there and the two nurses who were required to assist in his transfer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it, lovelies. Let me know what you thought. I love compliments as much as I love constructive criticism, so help a wannabe writer out.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian stared at the monitor in confusion. “Am... am I meant to remember all that? ‘Cause I only got up ten minutes ago and I’m still high on tranqs.”  
> The monitor shook his head with an understanding smile, “Nah, most of the time the place you’ll need to be in will be written on your timetable.”  
> “Damn, I thought I was done with school,” Ian said flatly. The monitor laughed and looked behind Ian towards a guy in an outfit which looked similar to scrubs, but white instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to anyone on my side of the time zone for whom this is technically being published on Thursday morning, not Wednesday evening. My bad. I apologise.

Ian woke up in a plain-looking room. It had two sets of bunk beds in it, one of which he was occupying the bottom bunk of, two chests of drawers beneath the window, and that was it to the room save for a basic analogue clock hanging on the wall. There was a doorway which he could see other people through. All of them wore grey. Ian looked to the foot of his bed to see a matching grey outfit waiting for him. With a sigh he heaved himself out of bed and looked at the chests of drawers to see two drawers with stickers on that bore his name (very unlike Ian, his curiosity subsided, and he didn’t even glance at the other stickers to see whom he would be rooming with). He went in to one of the drawers to find several sets of boxers, socks, a pair of black swim shorts, and a pair of plain slip-on shoes. In the other he found two more of the grey outfits, two white towels, and a net wash bag containing soap, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a face cloth. Well, his wardrobe was even less extensive than his one back home, if that were possible. He grabbed a pair of clean boxers and socks, a towel, his wash bag, and then pulled on his hideous grey outfit before wandering out of the room to find out where he could get a shower.

“Woah, where do you think you’re going?” A guy in an authoritative outfit asked him as he went in search of the bathroom.

“Shower?” Ian said rhetorically, staring down at the belongings which were in his arms for explanation.

“No smart ass remarks, kid. You should be in a session,” the ‘guard’ told him, pointing down the long corridor to a set of double doors. This didn’t really tell Ian much.

“Sorry, I’m new. Came in last night,” Ian shrugged, looking down to his feet uncomfortably.

The ‘guard’ nodded, “Okay, in which, case, if you wait a minute, I’ll have someone come and tell you the ins and outs and how everything works.” He then spoke down to his radio, telling someone to come down to ‘Elm three’. He noticed Ian’s look of confusion and explained “Each floor’s named after a tree, and each room is numbered. You’re Elm three. Six rooms to a floor, a shower room and then a bathroom – toilets, sinks, mirrors – a pill station, and a rec room. I’m a monitor. Minimum of two of us on each floor – depends on risk assessments for the floors – six on the bottom two floors. Ground floor, Willow, is where the dining hall is, the large communal hall, the group therapy rooms, and the library. Beech is second floor, there’s the individual therapy rooms, clinic, and solitary. Oak is next, that’s the same as this – living – and then you, Elm, are fourth floor. Ash is above us, also living, female, and Larch is the top floor, that’s where all the offices are, the on-call rooms, and the live-in quarters for staff.”

Ian stared at the monitor in confusion. “Am... am I meant to remember all that? ‘Cause I only got up ten minutes ago and I’m still high on tranqs.”

The monitor shook his head with an understanding smile, “Nah, most of the time the place you’ll need to be in will be written on your timetable.”

“Damn, I thought I was done with school,” Ian said flatly. The monitor laughed and looked behind Ian towards a guy in an outfit which looked similar to scrubs, but white instead.

“Joe, is this the new one?” They called towards the monitor, whom Ian assumed must be Joe.

Joe nodded his head and said “Yep, this is him. Just been giving him a verbal map.”

“Okay, I’ll take it from here, thanks, Joe.” The guy said. “Hello, I’m Kurtis. Who are you? I’m sorry, we had several newbies admitted last night,” Kurtis chuckled lightly as he looked to Ian.

“Ian… Gallagher.” Ian replied, not looking the guy in the eyes.

Kurtis nodded and looked down a clipboard, “Yeah, okay. You’re in for bipolar disorder, is that correct?”

“Apparently.” Ian grunted.

“You’re on six hundred milligrams of lithium morning, afternoon, and evening, twenty of lurasidone in the morning, and five of asenapine in the morning and evening, so let’s go and get your first dose and then I’ll take you out of the way to explain some more about how we work here.”

Ian nodded and followed Kurtis to the pill station where he was asked his name and then given a paper cup containing his pills and a cup of water. When asked if he had eaten (he hadn’t), he was given a granola bar and made to eat there before taking the pills in front of the dispensary nurse. The nurse leant slightly over the dividing wall of the ‘hatch’ and told Ian to open his mouth and raise his tongue so they could check he had taken the medication. He begrudgingly did as instructed before being taken away by Kurtis to an empty individual therapy room on Beech.

“So, Ian, as you saw, pills are checked on a list. They’re also done on an identity card scheme, however, yours hasn’t been issued yet, so that was why I had to speak to the dispensary nurse on your behalf. If you don’t get your pills an hour after the desired times, you’ll be called over the loudspeaker to go and take them. You have a timetable to follow to help you integrate yourself in to recovery. Visits are Wednesday and Sunday afternoons, but that is based on behaviour and cooperation. There is free time scheduled in to your timetable, but again this is based on attendance to individual and group therapy. So, if you don’t attend a session you would have to attend it in your free time.” Kurtis stopped for a moment. “Are you following so far?” Ian grunted out a yes.

“Good. Wake up is around eight, breakfast is eight thirty, so that gives you time to shower if you wish. You then have to get your pills after breakfast, and your first timetable slot of the day begins at nine thirty. Each session is an hour and a half, but some sessions are flexible and may finish earlier or later than others, so there are fifteen minutes spare between each timetable slot. Lunch is at one, and you have until two to eat and get your pills. You have one last timetable slot for the day, and then your free time is from three thirty until dinner, which is at six, and lights out is at nine thirty, so again you have some free time to yourself between dinner and lights out if you prefer to shower in the evening.” Kurtis looked through some sheets on his clipboard before pulling out a sheet of paper and handing it to Ian. “Your timetable. It’s colour-coded, and the locations you need to be in are written on there as well.” He paused. “There’s signs at every staircase saying what is where, so a map isn’t necessary.

“So, I’m sure Joe told you that we have a solitary section. It’s used for non-cooperation, acting out, poor behaviour, and sometimes for the safety of others or yourselves. There is an area for sports and exercise outside, we also have an indoor pool and gym on the grounds, and as Joe mentioned there is the library on Willow. These areas are treated as a privilege, so poor behaviour will lead to you not being able to be admitted to these areas. This brings me nicely on to the card system. You have an identity card with a barcode which is unique to you. This allows you to access areas, kind of like in universities and colleges. You can access your own level, the two lower communal levels, and the privilege areas, but as I said, the latter are if your behaviour permits it. And finally, we work on a three strike policy for solitary. Three strikes in a week and it’s solitary. It’s not very enjoyable, so I advise you avoid it by cooperating.” Kurtis cleared his throat. “Now, I think that’s everything apart from getting your I.D. card sorted. We’ll go and do that in a moment. Do you have any questions for me?” Again, Ian was quiet and simply shook his head, trying to appear as though he had taken in and understood what had been said to him. “All right then, come with me.” Ian was then taken to an office upstairs where he had an I.D. card made with his picture and barcode on. He was told to keep it clipped on his person in a visible place.

“Oh, I forgot to mention, you can make a call once every other day to your family or a friend, again based on good behaviour and cooperation. So, with everything said, feel free to go upstairs and shower. You aren’t expected in any of your timetable slots today as it’s your settling in day, so feel free to explore and make yourself familiar, but don’t disturb any sessions. I’d advise the library for today maybe.”

Ian nodded for what he hoped was the last time and walked away from Kurtis, not thanking him, simply making a beeline for his room to fetch his things from his bed to shower.

In the shower room, he saw what looked like the shower room of a locker room in a high school, cubicles with curtains filling the centre of the room and a hook for one’s towel outside of the cubicle. Ian stripped down, placed his clothes on a work surface on the edges, and made his way in to a cubicle, hanging his towel outside and taking his soap and wash cloth in with him. He turned the water on as hot as he could handle it and just stood with his hands against the wall as the spray trickled down his back. Everything he had been told today had just gone over his head. He was being medicated for a disorder he didn’t have, and being forced to live with a bunch of loons. Could Ian’s life be any shittier?

“No, it could not,” Ian muttered to himself, reaching to turn the heat up a little. “ _No, it fucking could not!_ ” He yelled, punching the cubicle wall repeatedly, his body full of rage. How could they? How could his family let this happen to him? Why had they not fought for him? It just didn’t make any sense. It was as though they hated him. At this thought, he felt one single tear form in his eye and get washed away by the shower. He felt so betrayed. He continued to punch the wall as the hot water pounded down on his back, almost scalding his pale skin. He didn’t care though, he just felt so angry and so hurt. His emotions felt insanely conflicting and confusing right now, and he didn’t know what to make of them, or of himself for that matter.

Finally, when Ian felt just a fraction better, he stopped pounding the hell out of the shower and his knuckles and turned down the shower to wash the blood off of his hands. Stopping the blood, though, that was another thing.

With a sigh, Ian wrapped his wash cloth round one hand and kept his towel on the other. Once he was dressed, he made his way out to find the clinic and get some Band-Aids. When he got there, the nurse asked nothing (which he was slightly surprised about), and simply sat him down whilst she cleaned, sterilised, and wrapped his hands in bandages with a little gauze. “Better than a Band-Aid,” she smiled warmly before asking Ian for his I.D. card, explaining that she had to log his visit in to the system. When he asked why, she said that it was just to keep his medical records up to date. She handed back his I.D. card and sent him away with a warm smile, explaining the laundry system to him when she saw him go to pick up his blood-covered towel and wash cloth (there was a collection every other day). Ian grunted out a thanks before heading down a floor to find this rumoured library. He saw the larger rec room and several group therapy sessions happening on his way to the library. What he found was much larger than a high school library.

For a while he just looked across the titles. Ian had always enjoyed reading. It was like an escape, like being able to get away from his crappy life, and instead he could pretend to be viewing someone else’s life, better or worse than his. If it was worse, it made him feel better about his own, and a better one he would let himself fall in to the story, imagine he was that character and that, for then, that better life was his.

He left the library with a copy of Charles Dickins’ _Great Expectations_ , a classic he had seen on TV and thought it wasn’t too terrible. And after that he made his way back to his room to start the book. He wasn’t far in to his book before he had fallen asleep, the novel open on his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this, preciouses (wow, how fucking Gollum of me).  
> Feel free to leave some more lovely feedback or kudos, I really appreciate the stuff from last chapter. Follow my Tumblr (thebestpartofthecarrotcostume) for updates, hints, and tracking OTOTW outside of author notes.


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I said, whatcha’ gonna’ do for me?” Mickey said, his voice lower, harder.  
> “What do you want?” Ian asked, not sure how to act. He didn’t know what this guy was in for, what he had, how rational he was or wasn’t, and whether he was willing to hurt him.  
> Mickey looked around the room briefly. It was only the two of them in there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, my lovelies, chapter three. Let me know what you think with your lovely comments and kudos, please. Thank you for your responses to the last chapter, and I'm sorry it was a bit wet, I needed to set the scene. This one is more exciting.

When Ian woke up the small window wasn’t letting in any light, only the dim shadow of dusk. He sat up and rubbed his eyes blearily, only remembering where he was after a few minutes. Sighing to himself, Ian looked around for his book – he definitely remembered sleeping with it. He got off of his bed, thinking that maybe he had rolled over in his sleep and it had fallen off.

“Oh, Sleeping Beauty fuckin’ wakes up!” Ian heard a voice say from behind him. Turning around, he was met by a guy with black hair and pale skin on the bunk above his. “Who the fuck are you then, newbie?” Ian looked at the guy sceptically for a moment. “I ain’t gonna’ fuckin’ bite, I just asked your name. I’m Mickey."

“Ian,” he replied flatly, looking under his bed for the copy of _Great Expectations_.

“Lookin’ for this?” Mickey said, waving the copy of the book in the air.

Ian nodded, making his way towards Mickey, “Yeah, thanks,” he reached out to take the book.

“Ah, ah. Whatcha’ gonna’ do for me?” Mickey asked, snatching the book back before Ian could grasp it.

Ian raised an eyebrow at him before stepping up on his own bunk to reach for the book in Mickey’s hand. Before he could, Mickey had leant forward, caught his hand in a vice-like grip and twisted it slightly to the point that it was bordering on causing Ian pain. What hurt more was the way he was gripping his hand and how it was pressing on his bruised, bloody knuckles.

“I _said_ , whatcha’ gonna’ do for me?” Mickey said, his voice lower, harder.

“What do you want?” Ian asked, not sure how to act. He didn’t know what this guy was in for, what he had, how rational he was or wasn’t, and whether he was willing to hurt him.

Mickey looked around the room briefly. It was only the two of them in there. He looked Ian in the eye before softening his grip on Ian’s hand, not enough to let the redhead pull it away, but enough for him to not be in as much pain. Mickey kept a hold of Ian’s hand, pulling it towards himself, placing it on his crotch, where he began to move it over his cock which was slowly becoming visible through his pants. Mickey’s eyes didn’t leave Ian’s once as he kept control over Ian’s hand, moving it faster. He soon came, his eyes closing as his breathing became deeper. This was the first time Ian had seen him not look like he wanted to kill someone. He moved Ian’s hand when he was finished, but he still didn’t let it go, maintaining a vice-like grip on it.

Mickey leaned forward and whispered “That’s what I want,” in to Ian’s ear, letting his lip brush against the shell of his ear gently, sending a shiver up his spine.

Ian didn’t know how to react. He just held Mickey’s eye contact and nodded his head slowly, letting out a small hum of acknowledgement. His hand being let go of, he pulled away quickly before stepping down and sitting on his bed, his legs crossed underneath him as he stared in to his lap, cradling his hand slightly as it throbbed. He was so zoned out that he didn’t hear Mickey jumping down from his bunk, didn’t notice him getting closer until _Great Expectations_ was placed in his lap and a whisper of “ _It’s always better when it’s someone else’s hand_ ,” brushed against his ear. Ian didn’t respond, he just placed the book beside him and continued to stare at his hands. He had no idea what he should think or how he should feel, so he didn’t, he just went back to sleep, the book hugged to his chest. 

Sleeping just seemed like the right thing to do, like it was what Ian was intended to do. He was convinced of that until he began to stir. Someone was shaking him. “Yo, Sleeping Beauty, wake up, it’s dinner time,” the person was saying as they nudged at his leg.

Ian tried so hard to resist the waking, but it wasn’t going to happen, and so he gently opened his eyes, looking up at the voice. It was Mickey. Ian recoiled slightly when he felt Mickey’s foot nudging at his leg.

“Woah, no need to look like a fucking puppy about to be kicked,” Mickey said. “I said it’s dinner time. You slept through breakfast, I’m assumin’ lunch, so you gotta’ come on. You’re probably a set of pills or two down today I’m guessin’.”

Ian grimaced at the mention of pills.

“I don’t fuckin’ like it either, but it keeps me out of the prison that is solitary. And don’t mistake this for me carin’ or nothin’, I just can’t lose my little bitch. So, come on, Sleeping Beauty, get up.” Mickey snapped, clapping his hands.

Ian rubbed a hand over his face before standing up, scruffing his hair back and forth a little and slipping on the hideous shoes that he was given. _Wow, they were comfy!_ He then followed Mickey, who was gesturing him towards the stairwell.

“Come with me. There’s some fuckin’ weirdos in here that you don’t wanna’ sit near, they’ll rip your fucking eyelids off and shove ‘em up your ass if you look at ‘em funny.” Mickey advised once they’d collected their dinner.

“So, does that… make you one of the normal ones?” Ian asked, raising an eyebrow slightly. He most definitely didn’t seem normal from Ian’s experiences, he seemed quite a few bulbs short of normal.

“I am fuckin’ normal, I’m just in here for anger issues and shit,” Mickey said, his voice changing to a more defensive tone. “So, what’re you in for?” Mickey asked when they sat down at a table with three guys that he assumed Mickey knew.

“I shouldn’t be,” Ian mumbled as he began to push his food around his plate, not having much of an appetite.

“You and ninety percent of this joint,” Mickey chuckled. The three guys across the table chorused along with Mickey’s very distinctive laugh. “By the way, this is Jared, James, and Henry. Jared and James room with us and Henry’s down on Oak, he used to be in my group before he moved floors. Guys, this is Ian.”

“Trust you to take this fucking duckling under your wing,” the lankey-looking boy Mickey had called Jared laughed to himself, while the short, stocky boy next to him – Henry? – smirked and nudged him on the arm.

Ian raised an eyebrow at them, not sure whether he should have been insulted or not. “He seems to go for redheads, we’re not sure why,” Henry put in, shrugging his broad shoulders.

Ian side-eyed a look at Mickey to see a slight blush creeping up his neck, his face set on his food as he continued to shovel it in. Ian just looked back to his own plate where he was still scraping his food back and forth and had slowly started to mush it up.

“For fucks sake, eat your fuckin’ food or don’t, just don’t make it look like a pile of shit and put me off mine,” Mickey snapped, turning on Ian with a hostile look. The boy in question looked deeply in to his mushed up food as he put his fork down slowly and began to rub his hands over the bandages on his knuckles. After a minute or so, he stood up and left, making his way for the pill station.

“Ian Gallagher,” Ian said to the dispensary nurse, handing his I.D. card over.

“Missed some lithium this afternoon,” The nurse pointed out, handing Ian his cup of pills and some water. After he’d swallowed the pills she demanded “Open. Okay, you’re good.”

Ian then traipsed his way back to his room, getting his stuff and going for another shower, feeling like he needed to let off some steam (aside from washing away the feeling of Mickey on him earlier).

Ian was lucky that nobody was in the showers; probably still eating he assumed. He leant against the counter to take the bandages and gauze off of his hands, seeing the large scabs and dark bruises that covered his knuckles on each hand. He sighed and dropped the bandages on the surface, going in to the cubicle farthest from the doorway and turning the water on high. Within moments Ian was pounding at the wall of the cubicle again, the nurse’s handiwork earlier wasted. Ian’s hands hurt so much. They hurt to the point that his whole body throbbed with ache. And then Ian just let himself fall to the floor, his head banging against the wall slightly as he landed. Tears fell silently, his face crumpling up in hurt. Not about his hands, about everything else. Mickey, the betrayal of his family, the fact he was here, just everything. Ian then sat with his head in his hands, the water splashing against his skin like a thunderous storm (it was very much representative of his life at that point), blood still dripping from his hands and tinting the water a washy pink.

Oh, how he missed being home, having people around him who didn’t force him to do things he didn’t want to, didn’t make him fear for his life, and didn’t seem to constantly treat him like a game. He didn’t understand Mickey, it was like he was the bipolar one back there. For a while, Ian didn’t move, but then he heard people begin to enter the shower room, so he got up and wrapped himself in his towel, covering his hands by holding his dirty clothes over them so nobody would see. He walked in to the bathroom and went in to the cubicle to get some tissue to hold back the bleeding. After brushing his teeth quickly, he made his way back to his room where he pulled on a pair of boxers and climbed in to bed, not paying attention to who was or wasn’t in there. He dropped off almost instantly in to a dull lull without a dream.

Ian woke with a start, and looked at the wall clock to see that it was three fifteen in the morning. With a disgruntled sigh, he got up to make his way to the bathroom, going for a leak before splashing his face with some cold water. God, he really shouldn’t be here. He could hear a person screaming, he assumed they were suffering from nightmares or some crappy hallucinations. He looked down at his hands on the way back to his room, seeing that the bruises were darker and spread way past his knuckles. Blood was smeared across his hands. _Guess the tissue didn’t work too well_ , Ian thought to himself, turning in to his room with a slight sigh as he rubbed a hand down the back of his neck. A small creak was emitted from the bed as he climbed back in under the white sheets, only now noticing the blood on them that the tissue had not soaked up very well – at all. “Fucking cheap ass shit,” Ian muttered under his breath, laying down and trying not to lay in the bloody areas of his sheets.

“D’you mind? Some of us are tryna’ not sleep in peace,” Mickey’s voice said, the silhouette of his head poking down from his own bed.

“Sorry,” Ian mumbled, shuffling himself deeper under his white sheets.

Mickey jumped down from his bunk. “Well, if you’re not sleepin’, move over and make some room,” he whispered, climbing under Ian’s sheets, forcing the redhead to roll on to his side and move over. “Shoulda’ just gone to the nurse again, less mess,” Mickey mumbled, reaching under the covers to fish out Ian’s hands and observe his knuckles, prodding in certain areas.

“Oww,” Ian hissed, snatching his hands back.

“Stop being such a fuckin’ pussy, I’m just seein’ if anythin’ is broken or if they’re still good to work their magic,” Mickey said, and Ian could just hear the smirk in his voice without even looking at him. He took Ian’s hands again and had one last feel of each of them before saying “Nah, seems good. But if you want some pain you’re better to cut or some shit, only damages yourself, not whatever wall you’ve been demolishin’ in this place,” putting his hands under the sheets, he threw his boxers out from under them before saying “Easier not to get caught that way if you do it right. We’ll get you a couple razors or somethin’.” Mickey must have noticed that Ian was giving him a suspecting look, because Mickey suddenly said “I like your hands working and that face of yours clean-shaven. Just… don’t do it somewhere obvious, you’ll get picked up on it and moved to a higher monitor detail. And of course you’ll look like a fuckin’ walkin’ stereotype.” Mickey then took one of Ian’s hands and moved it under the sheets.

Ian stared Mickey straight in the face, but Mickey looked away as he guided Ian’s hand sideways of where he wanted it the most. He could feel Mickey guiding his hand on to his leg, and he was sliding his fingers up and down his thigh, his fingers tingling as he felt the numerous ridges that felt like the rungs of a ladder. He noticed they stopped half way down his thigh, just enough so that swimming shorts and boxers would still cover them.

“Tactical,” Mickey muttered, still not meeting Ian’s eyes.

Ian stopped his hand for a moment, not allowing Mickey to move it, letting his hands hover over the scars, “Why are you really here? That’s not just anger issues,” Ian’s voice was gentle and curious at the same time.

“I said ‘and shit’,” was the muffled response Ian heard.

“So, what is this shit, then?” Ian whispered softly.

“B.P.D.,” Mickey mumbled out before taking control of Ian’s hand again and placing it on his semi-hard cock. He then began to pump Ian’s hand up and down his still-growing member, his blue eyes still focused on anything but Ian’s face.

“No,” Ian whispered, trying to stop Mickey’s control of his hand, feeling a little courage surge through his veins.

Mickey seemed taken aback as he repeated “No?”

“I’ll… I’ll do this if you want, but… I… I want something out of it,”

“Ooh, a dealer. Okay, what d’you want? We’ll see if it can be arranged,”

“I don’t want to be used like a puppet, for one,” Ian began, watching Mickey’s face for some sign of how he might react. This was dangerous ground, Ian knew that, and he had to tread lightly, as cautiously as though he were walking through a mine field. Then again, all interaction he had with Mickey up until then had been very much the same. “And… I want a little somethin’ out of this too, if you get me...” He felt Mickey let go of his hand, then move it slowly towards Ian’s leg, running it high up his thigh gently, slowly. The motion was so unlike Mickey that Ian actually flinched at the touch. Ian exhaled, he was unsure of how Mickey was going to respond, but this seemed like it could be a safe answer, he had expected anger.

“This okay? More? Less? I’m guessing you’re a virgin,” Mickey asked softly, still not looking at Ian, his eyes looking down at his bare chest instead.

Ian hummed lightly as Mickey began to slip his hand in to Ian’s boxers which were becoming tighter. He slowly began to move his own hand gently up and down Ian’s shaft, his fingers cautionary and meek.

Mickey began to move Ian’s boxers down with his wrist, his hand not moving away from Ian’s length. Ian couldn’t take it, he lifted himself up slightly and pulled down his boxers himself, leaving them at his knees before putting his hand back on Mickey’s cock and beginning to pump his hand again up and down. And Mickey showed him some proper attention, and it felt pretty good. Mickey had done this before, he knew what to do, how to twist and turn his hand, when to tighten or loosen his grip. Ian realised that in all of the sexual encounters he had had with girls, he had never actually paid attention to what they had done to him, just simply accepted the pleasure.

“Sorry,” Ian whispered, not intending to say it aloud.

“What?” Confusion laced Mickey’s single syllable. “Why you apologisin’?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Just remember I’m holdin’ your dick here when you lie to me. Now, why you apologisin’?”

Ian sighed and pulled his hand back. He then put a hand on Mickey’s that was treating him well and moved it away from him, pulling his boxers back up. “It’s nothing,” he replied, curling in on himself slightly.

“What the fuck is your problem? Just tell me. I don’t care, I just wanna’ know,” Mickey persisted, looking Ian’s constantly-moving eyes straight on.

Ian felt scared a little, he couldn’t quite tell how Mickey was feeling because his whisper muffled the emotion from his voice. “I’m… sorry it’s… I’m not… not that good,” he sighed, shrugging his shoulders.

“Oh, shut the fuck up and get your hand back on my dick,” Mickey commanded as he put an arm round Ian’s neck and pulled him closer, crashing his lips on to the ginger boy’s, kissing him hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, let me know what you thought. I hope you enjoyed it. Chapter four will be up on Wednesday again.  
> Remember to follow my Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume - for updates on this and any other fics.


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey… you’re, umm, in my seat,” a meek voice came from a tall, mousy girl.  
> “What?” Ian asked, wondering if the girl was serious. He was on an empty table. There were five other places at the table he was on. He told her this.  
> “No, it’s my seat. You can’t sit in my seat,” she said quickly, her voice almost panicky. When he just looked at her emotionlessly, she suddenly screamed and threw the plate with her food on to the table, smashing it, sending food flying across the table and Ian.

Mickey awoke to find himself still on Ian’s bed at six thirty five, the pair of them with limbs hanging over one another or the edge of the bed. He quickly shuffled himself out of the bed, pulled on his boxers, and climbed back up on to his own bunk, having one last glance at Ian’s sleeping form before he nestled himself under his sheets.

These sheets didn’t have Ian’s warmth.

*** * ***

The next day Ian found himself feeling a little more positive. Not a lot, but some. Maybe it was the pills starting to kick in. _Don’t delude yourself_ , a small voice in his head hissed. Ian rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms up high, hearing a crack come from his back before he heard one above him. This one wasn’t as satisfying as the first. “Fuck! Fucking son of a bitch!” He swore when his hands punched the bars above his head, forgetting that he was in a bunk bed. Looking at his hands, Ian saw that had opened some of the cuts on his knuckles. And then his mind went back to the conversations he and Mickey had had the night before.

“What’d you hit?” Someone grumbled out. Ian looked around for the voice. It was the top bunk on the other set of bunk beds. He looked over to see Jared from yesterday.

“Bruised fists,” Ian sighed. “Shitty bunk beds.”

“I know, it sucks. It’s why I swapped with Jamesy underneath here. Fucker never wakes up, has to be pulled out of bed, so it makes sense,” Jared shrugged, laying back down and sighing. “So, uh, what happened last night, then? Saw you had a little bed bug join you last night.”

“None of your God damned fuckin’ business!” Mickey piped up.

Jared sighed, “You know I fucking hate when you do that.”

“Never fuckin’ do nothin’,” Mickey replied, a smirk in his voice.

Jared sighed, “Playing fucking fly on the wall, you bastard.”

“From what you were askin’ Sleepin’ Beauty down there, seems like maybe you were doin’ it too.”

“You don’t know the meaning of a whisper, Mick, that’s why I had to play fly on the wall,” Jared laughed, jumping down from his bed to head to the bathroom. Ian decided that it was late enough that there was no point going back to sleep, and so he got up, collected his things for a shower, cleaning himself and his hands off before heading to the bathroom. A quick pee, brush of his teeth and an attempt at styling his hair, and then Ian was ready for the day. He quickly got some toilet paper on his way out for his still-bleeding knuckles.

He wandered back in to his room to get dressed before heading down to the clinic, asking the nurse to patch his knuckles up. She made him stay for five minutes with ice on his hands, hoping that he would be in less pain. She logged his visit while he waited. She, like Mickey, had felt about on his knuckles for breaks, and had said the same as the dark-haired boy had. When Ian went to leave, the nurse told him “You’re going to do some serious damage to your hands, maybe try and find another way of outlet with your therapist,” and sent him off with a sad smile.

Ian made his way to the dining room, collecting his breakfast and some orange juice and going to an empty table. He had seen the table that Mickey, Jared, and Henry were sitting at, but he didn’t want to invite himself over, so he just kept to himself that meal. He found it safer after Mickey’s minor outbursts at dinner the night before. He remembered Mickey saying B.P.D., but he didn’t have a clue what that stood for, let alone what it was. And he didn’t think it was clever to ask. And so he didn’t chance finding out what it was with first-hand experience. In that moment, he felt himself feel a little sadder, a little lonelier.

“Hey… you’re, umm, in my seat,” a meek voice came from a tall, mousy girl.

“What?” Ian asked, wondering if the girl was serious. He was on an empty table. There were five other places at the table he was on. He told her this.

“No, it’s _my_ seat. You can’t sit in my seat,” she said quickly, her voice almost panicky. When he just looked at her emotionlessly, she suddenly screamed and threw the plate with her food on to the table, smashing it, sending food flying across the table and Ian. He didn’t have any time to respond before she was throwing herself on to him. She had taken him by surprise, and had a shocking amount of strength in her, causing him to fall out of his seat and on to the floor. And then she began to scratch at him, her small hands armed with sharp nails.

In that moment, Ian didn’t know what to do, so he just reached up and tried to grab her rapidly moving hands. “What the fuck is your problem? Get off of me and take your stupid fucking seat, I was done anyway,” he shouted, pushing her away from him and standing up. By then a monitor had come and was restraining the mousy girl, holding her back and carrying her out of the dining room. Ian stood up, brushed himself off, ignoring the looks he was getting, and swiped some of the shattered plate off of the table before gripping it tightly in his palm and heading for the bathroom. He slammed the lid of the toilet down angrily and sat himself on the seat, pulling his pants down and sliding his boxers up. He only stopped for a moment of thought before he hesitantly put the shard to his leg, taking a deep breath as he pushed down hard and dragged it across the upper part of his thigh. He needed out of this shitty place. Ian was sure that his mental health was better when he was home. Never in a million years would he have done something like this back home. But he had his family around him there, here he only had himself and his thoughts, and both of those were slowly becoming more scrambled, and slowly more contradictory of themselves. Ian clenched his left hand hard as he moved the shard down slightly, dragging it across his skin haphazardly, exhaling deeply as he felt a slight sense of release. He did this a few more times before he suddenly noticed the blood about to land on his pants. “Ah, shit,” he quickly shoved a ball of tissue on the pooling blood that was beginning to trickle down his leg

“Ian Gallagher. Can Ian Gallagher please report to the pill station on Elm immediately.”

“Oh, for fuck… shit!” Ian wrapped a bunch of tissue round the ball of tissue that was piled on the cuts and then put his hand in his pocket to hold the tissue there, standing up and leaving the bathroom, the shard of plate wrapped up in tissue and in his other pocket. When he went to the pill station he felt like a fugitive, and he quickly handed his I.D. card over to the dispensary nurse, taking his pills and leaving as quickly as possible. He could feel the material of his pants where his hand was holding the tissue through his pocket becoming wet. Back in the bathroom he was replacing the tissue. Luckily the blood had only gotten to the pocket but had not become visible on the front of his pants.

“Gallagher,” Ian heard a familiar voice call as he was sat in the cubicle, “open up.”

“Fuck off, I’m taking a dump,” Ian called back.

Mickey laughed, “No, you fuckin’ ain’t, you haven’t eaten anything. You ain’t got nothin’ in you to shit out. Now, fuckin’ open up.” His voice became louder, he was outside the cubicle.

“Mickey, fuck off!”

“I ain’t fuckin’ goin’ nowhere, I wanna’ talk to you, so open the fuckin’ door.”

Ian sighed and pulled his pants up, opening the door. “What do you want?”

“Talk to you. What the fuck was that in the mess hall with Daisy?” Mickey asked as he stepped in to the cubicle, locking it behind him and sitting against it, looking at Ian as he sat back on the toilet.

“Bitch said I was in her seat. There were loads of others. Fuck that if I was moving.” Ian said, his voice hollow.

“I didn’t mean that bit.” Mickey explained, “I meant was it intentional? I saw you swipe part of the broken plate, did you intend for that to happen?”

Ian shook his head, sighing, “Nope, just a happy accident.” He shrugged.

Mickey took a hold of his hands and pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt up. “Good man,” he said, his voice sounding strange. Ian avoided Mickey’s gaze, snatching his hands back and stuffing them in to his pockets as he continued to avert his eyes.

“Well, if we’re done here, I’m going to bed.” Ian said, standing up and waiting for Mickey to move. “Move,” he sighed, his voice sounding exasperated. “Please,” he finally pleaded when Mickey still didn’t move, his voice sounding sad as he looked down to Mickey for the first time.

“No can do. You gotta’ go to therapy. If you don’t, they’re gonna’ put you in solitary, and I can’t be havin’ my little redhead leavin’ me,” he paused and looked Ian in the eyes when he stood up, “I _can’t_.” He had pulled Ian’s hands from his pockets and was gripping them tightly as he’d spoken.

Ian snatched his hands back and looked down again, not speaking, just trying to get past Mickey.

“No. Come on, we got group first. Where’s your timetable say you gotta’ be?”

Ian shrugged. He didn’t have his timetable on him, it was in one of his drawers. And he didn’t particularly want to go to group. He wanted to sleep, to hide himself away, and not come out for a while.

*** * ***

“Don’t have it,” the red-haired boy mumbled.

“Well, let’s go and get it then, princess,” Mickey chuckled to himself. He liked the nickname ‘princess,’ playing on the whole Sleeping Beauty joke. He opened the door and the pair walked back towards their room. Ian instantly flopped on to his bunk, laying on his side and staring at the wall. “Yo, Ian, come on, where’s your timetable?”

“Drawer,” Ian grumbled, his eyes not moving from the small piece of flaking paint beneath the window.

Mickey went through one drawer and didn’t find it, so he looked in the next one, finding Ian’s timetable scrunched up in a ball near his boxers. Mickey grabbed the sheet, opened it up, and found that Ian was in room four. _Mood disorder_ , Mickey thought, knowing what each of the group therapy rooms were for. Being here for long enough helped with that.

“Okay, come on, let’s go.” Mickey said, turning to Ian, “Get up, Sleepin’ Beauty, we gotta’ go, sessions started five minutes ago.”

Ian shook his head, “No, I don’t wanna’ go,” he whispered.

“You need to, man, come on,”

“I don’t. I don’t need to be here, I don’t need pills, and I don’t need therapy, I just need to go home,” Ian said quietly, his voice hollow again.

Mickey shook his head in response, saying “Don’t be fuckin’ stupid. If you’re in here, it’s for a reason, now get up and come on,” Mickey bent down and began to pull Ian up, “I don’t wanna’ do this, but you need to go.” He got Ian in to a sitting position and then pulled him up off of the bed. He maintained Ian’s weight, holding him upright, “I’m gonna’ let go now, okay? And if you don’t hold yourself up, I’m gonna’ set Daisy on you, so don’t fuck around,” Mickey commanded, taking his hands away from Ian, still being ready to grab a hold. He’d seen people just drop to the floor when forced to get up. He was lucky that Ian didn’t do this, but instead just slouched and slowly – painfully reluctantly – followed Mickey.

“You’re in here,” Mickey said, gesturing to room four. Ian looked at him blankly before walking in to the room, not looking back.

Mickey waited for a moment, making sure Ian went in to the session. When he saw Ian sitting down, he made his way to his own session, taking a seat and not paying attention to anything that was said. When it came to his turn to speak, he just shrugged his shoulders and said “Yeah, it’s been an all right week,” and left it at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, look who actually updated in their own time zone. Anyways, hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you thought with your lovely kudos and comments if you want.  
> And remember to follow my Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume - for updates, spoilers, and any other OTOTW info.


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Ian heard a familiar voice saying as the owner got closer. Turning over to look towards the doorway, he saw Mickey walking towards him. He didn’t say anything he just turned back over so he could wipe away his tears.  
> “Don’t bother. You wanna’ cry? Cry. I ain’t gonna’ judge you.” Mickey said, sitting down on Ian’s bed and looking at the redhead as he turned away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, don’t know if you’re enjoying this or not. I just thought I’d mention, because I know that some people might be think ‘hey, what the fuck, this isn’t Mickey,’ but my Mickey isn’t canon. My Mickey has B.P.D., and one of the symptoms of that is having such intense, albeit sometimes unstable, relationships. Some sufferers can feel like they can’t be left, and some become suicidal if they are left. They may even tell the person this before they separate as an attempt to try and stay with the person. So, that’s why Mickey is out of sorts in this story. Of course, not all sufferers have the same symptoms, before someone tries to point that out, but Mickey does have these ones to an extent.  
> All righty then, with that done and said,  
> Peace out, peeps, stay fab. (NOTE: when I wrote this, I was on an all-nighter, and I told you all to ‘peach out’)

Ian’s group session finished, and it seemed as though it had taken forever. Honestly, listening to the others speak had made him almost fall to sleep in his chair. When he got out, he found Mickey waiting outside for him, a small smile spread across his lips as he leant against the staircase.

“How was your first experience of group?” Mickey asked him, half-smiling.

Ian sighed, “Wanted to gouge my eyes out with a spork,” he mumbled, “it didn’t make sense. Half of the guys in there were painfully depressing and the other half seemed like they were on coke or something.”

Mickey looked at him seriously, “And do you realise that you fall in to one of those two?” All that Mickey received from Ian was a hard stare and a small _harrumph_. “Ian, you’re fuckin’ sick, and you need to accept that and accept the help they’re tryna’ give you,” Mickey told him.

“I’m not.” Ian whispered, moving his hair out of his eyes with a sense of unease and nervousness.

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you really are. We all are, and we all need the help. And if you wanna’ get out of here, you need to take the help. I didn’t when I first got in here. By the time I finally accepted it, I’d kept myself in here for an extra month and a half.”

Ian didn’t know what to say, he wasn’t really sure what there was _to_ say. So instead he just turned around and made his way up the stairs, continuing up to their room. Today had already been too much. The day had been both mentally and physically exhausting. Again, he was back on his bed and Mickey had followed him, a frown forming as he went.

“What the fuck are you doin’? We’ve had this conversation already today,” Mickey threw his hands in the air.

“Please, just fuck off and go to your session; leave me alone.”

Mickey scoffed, “Fuck you, then,” and walked away from his younger roommate, leaving him to drift off.

“Hello? Ian?” A soft voice said as Ian felt a shaking on his arm. He groaned and tried to bat away the person in his sleep, desperately clinging on to his comfortable slumber. During his nap, everything was simple and calm. “Ian, wake up.”

Rubbing his eyes and turning over, Ian found a small, dark-skinned women standing at his bedside. “Who the fuck are you?” He grumbled out, squinting at the obtrusive light.

“I’m Tanya, I’m your personal therapist. Your friend came and told me that you weren’t in the best mood to attend. I thought I’d come to you seeing as it is your first session. This is always the most important one,” She said as she moved towards James’ bed. “Do you mind?” She asked, gesturing to the unmade bed, asking to sit. Ian shrugged, so she sat down and said “Now, Ian, how are you?”

“Tired. Pissed off. I shouldn’t be here,” he mumbled, knotting his fingers together underneath his bed sheets.

“Why do you think you shouldn’t be here, Ian?”

“I’m not… I’m not sick. I’m not… I’m not like her…” he stammered out.

Tanya furrowed her brow, “Like who?”

“Monica.”

Tanya looked through some sheets on her clipboard, “Oh, yes, that’s your mother, isn’t it? She was diagnosed with bipolar, like yourself.”

Shaking his head viciously, Ian shouted “No! I’m not! I’m not like her! I wouldn’t put them through that! I wouldn’t do that to them! I’m not a let-down like she is!”

Tanya nodded her head and hummed, “You’re right, Ian, you’re not a let-down, you are a person who unfortunately is sick and unmedicated. That’s why you’re here, so we can help.” Ian had started shaking his head, mumbling ‘no’ under his breath repeatedly, his fingers worrying the edge of his bedsheets. “Ian, we can’t help you until you accept this fact. But I want to explain to you that this is not your fault. It’s biological. You have no control over it. This is your body, and it’s a genetic illness. Bipolar disorder runs in families. You never know, one of your siblings could develop bipolar themselves.” Ian looked at her confusedly. “A parent having bipolar is like a predisposition,” she cleared her throat lightly, “and it takes a trigger for the mania and the depression to kick in, like the death of a loved one, a breakdown in a relationship, anything like that. Do you understand me? None of this is your fault.” She reassured him as he watched her avidly, suddenly seeming slightly interested. “Do you understand this, Ian?”

Ian never knew that. When Monica was diagnosed, he was too young to think to look it up, so he never really knew much about it. And once she had left, he hadn’t cared enough to look it up. But… it… it wasn’t his fault? “I- So, this… this doesn’t make me like her?”

Tanya shook her head, “No. From what your family told me, Monica acted how she did because she was unmedicated. With the correct medication, you can live a normal life. So long as you take the medication in the correct doses and at the correct time consistently, your high and low periods will be nowhere near as drastic as Monica’s, nor as bad as extreme as the one’s you’ve experienced so far. And we’ll help with this. First, we’ll sort your medication, because it won’t kick in immediately, and it mightn’t be the correct dosage or combination. It will be trial and error.” Tanya noticed the slight drop in Ian’s expression, “But it will help, eventually we’ll get it right, and it will help. We’ll then teach you to recognise the symptoms of a manic or depressive state, so you can adjust your medication appropriately. Would I be right in saying that you’re currently experiencing a depressive mood?”

Ian shrugged his shoulders, “I… I guess. I mean, I just wanna’ sleep, and I didn’t want to talk to you. I’m only doing it becau-” Ian stopped himself. Why was he talking to her?

“Go on, Ian,” Tanya prompted.

“Because you’ve said that I can end up not being a waste of oxygen like Monica.” He admitted.

“Nobody is a waste of oxygen, some people just can’t be helped, because they won’t take it.” She cleared her throat. “Now that we know you’re suffering from a depressive state, we can alter medication accordingly, to try and alleviate some of the symptoms of the depression. So, is there anything else you want to know?” Tanya asked him, after she had written a few notes on her clipboard.

Ian shook his head.

“Okay, so, each session I’ll give you a sheet like this one to fill out.” She handed him a sheet with a scale of negative five to positive five and several questions after.

_How are you feeling/what are you thinking?_

_What have you done/do you intend to do about this?_

“You’ll just have to fill it out so we can assess your situation, and it will slowly allow us to identify the symptoms of your manic and depressive stages so that we can then teach you to look out for them, as well as helping us work out whether your medication is correct or not. Of course, your input will also be needed to understand that.” She then handed him her pen and asked him to fill it out.

Ian looked at the sheet. _How would you rate your mood?_

He thought for a moment. He felt like a bag of shit, but there were times when he had felt even worse. With that in mind, Ian circled negative four. Then he circled negative three. “I can’t decide. I kinda’ wanna’ put it in the middle, yeah?” Ian explained when he noticed Tanya observing his answers. She just nodded her head tentatively.

_How are you feeling/what are you thinking?_

Tired. Confused. Exhausted. Shitty.

The next question caused Ian to furrow his brow. “What does this one mean?”

Tanya exhaled gently and explained “For example, in a down period, some people self-harm, or think of self-harming, whilst others have coping techniques that differ from this, such as going for a nap, reading a book, or just trying to think about happy things. This question kind of allows us to monitor how you’re coping, whether your medication is working, and if we need to put you under a higher monitor level for your own or the safety of others.”

Ian nodded his head slowly. He didn’t want to write everything, so he just stared at the question in confusion. When he noticed Tanya looking at his bandaged knuckles, he quickly wrote ‘nothing’ for that answer and handed it back to her. She looked at him for a moment before tucking the paper back on to her clipboard, taking her pen back. “Okay, well, I think we’ll leave it there for now if you want. I’ll go and notify the dispensary nurse of your medication change, and I’ll leave you to relax, okay? Don’t worry about your next timetabled slot, I won’t have time to sort a task out for you, so don’t worry about it and just come to the next one tomorrow.”

Ian nodded his head, “Thanks,” he whispered softly before laying down and tucking himself under his sheets again, closing his eyes and letting himself gently cry for a moment. If it wasn’t the most relieving thing knowing that he wouldn’t end up like Monica.

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Ian heard a familiar voice saying as the owner got closer. Turning over to look towards the doorway, he saw Mickey walking towards him. He didn’t say anything he just turned back over so he could wipe away his tears.

“Don’t bother. You wanna’ cry? Cry. I ain’t gonna’ judge you.” Mickey said, sitting down on Ian’s bed and looking at the redhead as he turned away from him.

“Your session finish early?” Ian asked Mickey, not turning to look at him.

“Didn’t go. Remembered your room for this session, so I got your woman to come down. I sat outside. Wanted to make sure you were okay,” Mickey said, putting a hand on Ian’s arm and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Ian nodded his head gently, his eyes brimming with tears.

“Look at me,” Mickey asked, shaking Ian’s arm gently. “Ian, look at me.”

Ian slowly rolled over to look at Mickey, his eyes sad and unsure.

“You’re not a waste of oxygen,” he said, looking Ian in the eye firmly. He bent down a pressed a gentle kiss to Ian’s forehead.

“Thanks,” Ian whispered. He then looked to the clock and saw that he still had time for a nap before lunch. He shuffled out of his pants and threw them out of the sheets before sitting up and pulling off his sweatshirt and t-shirt in one swift movement. And then he was laying down and rolling over to sleep.

“Mind if I join ya’?” Mickey asked gently, his voice slightly hopeful.

Ian shrugged his shoulders in a non-committal way but made space for Mickey to lay down next to him. He didn’t really know where this was going. The situation confused him. He supposed it was because he had never really looked at a guy before in a romantic way. It wasn’t something he felt opposed to, he had just never really had his eye taken by anyone. Ian heard fabric rubbing against itself, then he heard Mickey’s clothes falling to the floor. A cold hand on his hip made Ian jump.

“Sorry,” Mickey mumbled, taking his hand back.

“It’s fine,” Ian replied, closing his eyes. He exhaled gently when Mickey’s cold hand returned to his hip. “Thank you,” Ian whispered, “for… getting Tanya to come see me.”

“No problem. You don’t deserve to waste a month and a half like I did.” Mickey paused, “How long are you in here for? I mean, like, was it court or hospital ordered? You comin’ here.”

“Four weeks. Court. Got admitted to hospital after I jumped out of a second storey window. Something about drugs, breaking and entering, something like that.” Ian explained, his voice getting quiet with embarrassment.

Mickey’s hand was rubbing gentle circles in to Ian’s hip as he asked “Was… that a high or a low?”

“High. I was two states across, hadn’t been home for a couple weeks.” He sighed lightly, “What about you?”

Mickey’s hand stopped as he said “Self-admission at the moment, so my leavin’ is kinda’ conditional.”

Ian nodded, “Why?”

“I’m fucked up.” Mickey explained. “I, ah, I got admitted first when I went in to hospital. Cut my wrists, tried to kill myself. Wouldn’t’ve made it if my sister hadn’t found me when she did. I came in for six weeks originally, spent that refusin’ treatment, kept in for six more when Mandy finally begged me to see sense, said she needed me.” Mickey stopped for a moment after his voice had broken slightly. “I got better… a little, enough for them to discharge me on external therapy. Then I lost it. Dad found me takin’ it up the ass, beat the fuckin’ shit outta’ me, beat the guy I was with to the point of bein’ a vegetable.” Mickey’s grip had tightened on Ian’s hip to the point of almost causing him pain. “Another failed suicide attempt, more shit from my dad, then I got Mandy to drive me down here and put myself in. It’s just ‘til I feel I can get out. But with how my dad is, I ain’t in no rush.”

“Erm, do you mind me asking what your, uh, B.D.P. is?” Ian asked cautiously.

Mickey relaxed a little and chuckled, “B.P.D. is Borderline Personality Disorder. I guess it’s kinda’ like yours a bit. My moods can be erratic, as you’ve seen, so like, I can be cheery as your fuckin’ aunt one minute and the next you can just fuck off ‘cause I won’t be somethin’ you’d wanna’ spend time with.” He sighed, “Hostility is a big part of it. Umm, I guess in short it’s kind of how my moods are and how I… interact with other people. It’s kinda’ weird, hard to describe ‘cause it’s different in everyone. Like, there’s a load of symptoms I could have, but I only have some of ‘em. And someone else with it might have some of them, but they might not have any of the ones that I do, and they’ve still got the same shit as me.”

“You’re not fucked up,” Ian said after a minute.

Mickey chuckled lightly, “I am, I’m just havin’ a few good days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, drop me a comment with your thoughts or some lovely kudos if you'd like. And follow my Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume - for spoilers, updates, and other fic-related stuff.


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come on, let’s get you dried off before you freeze,” Mickey told him, standing up and taking Ian’s towel from the hook. He held it out for Ian to step in to, wrapping it around his shoulders and pulling him against his chest gently.  
> “I just hate it,” Ian mumbled in to Mickey’s shoulder.  
> Mickey nodded his head, reassuring him that his pills would start to kick in soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies. I'm sorry I didn't update on Wednesday, I went away on Thursday morning so was packing until later and it completely slipped my mind.  
> But, in other news, for those of you who, like myself, are fans of caring/sensitive Mickey, then this chapter is for you!

“Yo, Bonnie, Clyde, get up and get your pills, I’m tired of hearing Ian’s fucking name over and over again,” Ian and Mickey were woken by Jared giving them both a kick.

The dozing couple blearily opened their eyes, Ian a little more reluctantly than Mickey, “Thanks, man,” Mickey said, standing up and pulling on his trousers and a t-shirt. “Ian, get up,” he shook Ian’s shoulder before handing him his pants and the bundle that was his t-shirt and sweatshirt.

“I don’t want ‘em,” Ian grumbled, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

Mickey looked at him firmly and said “Well, Monica, that’s real fuckin’ nice, but you’re havin’ ‘em,” taking the sweatshirt and t-shirt bundle and untangling it.

“Fuck off,” Ian hissed, kicking his leg out at Mickey quickly, not allowing the older boy time to react. And by the sound Mickey made, Ian had made a good shot.

“If you were anyone else, I woulda’ punched you right back in the nuts, but I’m tryin’ to control my anger, so get the fuck up.” Mickey coughed a few times after, straightening up and moving the sheets off of Ian, pulling him up and trying to force him in to his clothes. Only now did he notice the blood on Ian’s pants and his mattress. “Come on, you need ‘em,” he sighed, seeing the cuts on Ian’s leg that looked like they were still struggling to heal over. He could see the masses of tissue covered in blood beside him. Going over to the chest of drawers, he went in to one of his and pulled out his facecloth, bundling it up slightly and pressing it to Ian’s leg.

“Ow!” Ian groaned lowly, looking to Mickey with a venomous look.

“When’d you do this?” Mickey asked as he continued to apply the pressure.

“Breakfast,”

“Then you need it lookin’ at,” Mickey exhaled, “If you’re gonna’ do it and not get noticed, you’ve gotta’ learn when it’s too much. You need it to heal over on its own, these ain’t. Put your clothes on, we’ll get your pills and then take you down to the clinic. You don’t have a choice in it.” In that moment, Mickey felt as though he was Ian’s parent, having to watch over him and make sure that he ate his vegetables and washed his hands. In this case, though, it was making sure he took his meds, attended his therapy sessions, and didn’t accidentally off himself.

Ian was shaking his head as Mickey tried to dress him, “No, no, I don’t wanna’,” his arms fighting against the t-shirt that Mickey was forcing over his head.

“Well, you fucking gotta’!” Mickey raised his voice, pulling Ian’s sweatshirt over his head and pulling him up to pull his pants up.

“Mickey, nooooo,” Ian mumbled, leaning against Mickey’s chest limply.

Sighing, Mickey didn’t say anything, instead just frog-marching Ian to the pill station, handing over Ian’s I.D. card and accepting the pills and water to give to the boy who was leaning against a wall.

Ian stood to the side, his eyes set on the floor as Mickey came towards him, a dispensary nurse beside him, handing the ginger boy the paper cup with his pills in and a cup of water.

“Please, just don’t fight me on this one, okay?” Mickey pleaded, forcing the two cups at Ian.

Ian could see the desperation in Mickey’s eyes, hear it in his voice as his jaw was firmly set. He didn’t want the pills, he didn’t want any of this, but he didn’t know what else to do, what else to think, and so he just nodded vacantly and accepted the two cups hesitantly. After he’d taken his pills, the nurse checked his mouth before walking away.

In the clinic, Ian was sat on a bed, the curtains pulled around it as the nurse asked him to take his pants off. He did so and laid back on the bed, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to see the anxiety in Mickey’s own blue ones. He didn’t get what Mickey’s problem was anyway, he’d only known him for a couple days. Why was the guy worrying so much?

And not to mention, he had fucking told him to do it?!

Ian really struggled to understand Mickey at the best of times.

“Do you mind?” The nurse asked, gesturing to Ian’s boxers. He shrugged his shoulders and kept his eyes closed. He didn’t have to do anything else (Mickey answered any questions the nurse had), just nod his head when she explained that she needed to put a couple of stitches in his leg. Mickey was good to him, though, and didn’t give the nurse too much information, just enough that she knew what to do. The nurse gave him a fresh set of pants, told him to drink a lot of water, be careful, and then sent him off, advising he got some rest. Ian didn’t know this, but the nurse had asked Mickey to keep an eye on him, saying that she would vouch for his absence from his timetabled session that afternoon.

*** * ***

Sitting on James’ bed, Mickey watched Ian sleeping peacefully, his eyes never leaving the redhead. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to Ian, not his Ian.

Suddenly, Mickey was being woken up: “Dude, come on, you’ve got your own bed,” James was saying as he shook Mickey awake.

Mickey looked at him for a moment before looking to see Ian’s empty bed.  “Sorry. Don’t worry, I’m getting up anyway,” he mumbled as he was climbing off of the bed and making his way out of their room, looking for Ian. After checking the rec room and the bathroom, he found Ian in the shower room, he only knew it was him in there because he just could see Ian’s bright hair through the cheap shower curtains. He was sitting down by the looks of it.

“Ian, it’s me,” Mickey called out calmly. He didn’t get a reply. “You mind coming out?” Still no reply. His heart skipped a beat. He pulled open the curtain, finding Ian sitting down, his skin pink from the hot water pounding down from above him. After reaching in and turning the water off, he bent down to Ian’s level and put a hand on his shoulder, “You okay?” Mickey kept his tone as soft as he could. Ian nodded his head. “Just needed space to think?” Again, Ian nodded his head, a few water droplets going in to his eyes. “Come on, let’s get you dried off before you freeze,” Mickey told him, standing up and taking Ian’s towel from the hook. He held it out for Ian to step in to, wrapping it around his shoulders and pulling him against his chest gently.

“I just hate it,” Ian mumbled in to Mickey’s shoulder.

Mickey nodded his head, reassuring him that his pills would start to kick in soon.

*** * ***

When it came to getting up the next day for breakfast, Ian felt a little willing. He didn’t feel like everything was coming down on top of him, he felt like he was able to smile without it looking like a pained and forced grimace. Today felt… better. Not great, but better. After he’d showered (two showers a day seemed like it would become a gradual habit), Ian went back in to his room to find Mickey stripping the blood-covered sheets from his bed. Ian thanked him. “I’ll show you where the laundry chute is,” Mickey told Ian as he threw the sheets in to the pile of dirty laundry in the corner, which Ian assumed belonged to the rest of the room. “Each room gets their laundry done together, we get it back by lunch. Grab some of that and help me get it down to the chute.” Ian did as he was told and then followed Mickey out of their room, going towards the pill station. On the left of it was a section of the wall that was slightly more set back with six different laundry chutes like the one they had at home, but each one was numbered according to the rooms.

They dropped the laundry in to the chute before heading down for breakfast, sitting down with James, Henry, and Jared. Mickey and Ian sat speaking together, Mickey mentioning that Ian should nip down to the nurse just to get his stitches checked after he’d gotten them wet.

“Don’t know about you guys, but I’m feeling a bit like an extra wheel on this table," Jared said, looking to James and Henry with a grin.

With a completely straight face, Mickey looked at Jared and said “Course you are, tables ain’t meant to have fuckin’ wheels,” and then looked back at Ian to carry on the conversation they were having. When Mickey looked at Ian, he noticed a small smile on his face.

“I liked that one,” Ian commented, taking a bite of his toast. Mickey just smiled back at him, saying that they would go to the nurse after they’d gotten his pills if there was time. Ian nodded, noticing a slight sadness to Mickey’s tone. He put his hand under the table and gave Mickey’s leg a gentle squeeze before returning to his breakfast.

Mickey and Ian got their pills after breakfast, leaving the table before the others, and then headed down to the nurse with ten minutes before their first timetabled session. The nurse looked at the pair as they entered, “Becoming regular customers,” she chuckled lightly as she gestured them to a bed.

Ian sat down and pulled his pants down as Mickey said “He got his stitches wet in the shower,” when the nurse looked to them questioningly.

“Okay, I’ll just take the bandages off and take a look at those for you,” the nurse explained, unwrapping the bandages from the top of Ian’s leg. “They look as though you’ve dried them well enough. Just keep an eye on them. You know what to look out for, don’t you, Mickey?” He nodded gently. “Okay, well, I’ll give you some spare bandages and gauze and I’ll put some fresh on now. Just make sure that if you are showering you’re trying to avoid the stitches getting wet.” She smiled softly as she re-bandaged Ian’s leg. “Mickey, would you like to go and get some spares from the drawers over there?” The nurse asked, pointing towards a sterile-looking chest of drawers in the corner. When Mickey had gone, she looked to Ian briefly before saying “You’ve got a good one. Mickey’s a nice guy, he just needs someone to keep him… level,” she mentioned quietly, smiling as she tied off the bandage. Ian smiled a small smile back at her.

After that, Ian and Mickey were heading to the session where he would do his therapy task. He discovered that this was done in the communal hall on Willow, with everyone just sitting at the table completing their tasks (they were set in a folder, each of which was in a box that was ordered alphabetically).

Ian sat down at a table, Mickey coming to sit beside him, and they both opened up their folders. Ian had a set of handwritten instructions, an A5 notebook, and a pen.

_Make a diary entry._

_Write anything and everything. How you’re feeling, what you’re thinking. Anything. We will use this to monitor your episodes and use them to help us learn the indicators of a manic or depressive episode._

_See you next session, Ian._

Ian flipped through the pages of the book, just checking that they were all empty. He actually found the flipping of the pages quite relaxing. Opening the book, Ian began to write:

_Um, okay, this is kind of weird. It’s a bit girly, isn’t it? I dunno’, whatever. Mickey told me to be open-minded, said it would get me out of here quicker, so that’s what I’m trying to do._

_I’m feeling a little better. Today’s probably like a -1.5 or something, maybe a -1. I dunno’, better. I don’t really know what else to write._

And then Ian looked up to Mickey. He had a look of concentration on his face as he scribbled in to a book similar to Ian’s, but Ian couldn’t see what he was writing. He didn’t think he needed to see anyway, though.

“What am I supposed to do now?”

“Just… put your head down and pretend you’re writing shit. Monitors don’t let you go early, so you can usually just sit and talk so long as you look like you’re writing,” Mickey mumbled out, his voice sounding slightly irritated.

A swift nod and then Ian was down and writing in his ‘diary’ again.

_I don’t know what’s up with Mickey. He seems off today. He’s been off since breakfast. Nothing really happened then, though. The guys made a joke, but it was a joke, so I don’t think that bothered him. He gave as good as he got anyway, so I really doubt it bothered him._

_I dunno’, I worry about him, but I think it’s only because I still don’t understand it. BPD. I still don’t understand it, even after he tried to explain. I don’t understand a lot of this place, though, so I guess it doesn’t really make a difference._

_I’d just… I’d like to help him, like he’s helping me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I hope you enjoyed it, and let me know what you thought with your lovely comments and kudos, they make me smile.  
> Also, follow my Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume - for updates, info, and spoilers on the fic.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did he misinterpret the Mickey situation? Hell, he didn’t even know what was happening with the Mickey situation. Or what the Mickey situation even was. Maybe it wasn’t even a situation? Maybe Ian was making a mountain out of a mole hill? He didn’t know, it made his head hurt to try and get his head around it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter seven, lovelies. Feel free to leave me a comment or kudos, as usual, I really appreciate it, and it always makes me want to get chapters out for you guys.

Ian’s group therapy session was quite similar to his previous one, but his time he didn’t see himself as being one of the depressed people – not that he had admitted that when asked by Mickey. He felt slightly normal.

“How are you today, Ian?” The group leader asked when it was his turn in the circle.

“Okay,” he replied, his tone sounding a little optimistic. He even smiled gently like he did with the nurse to reassure her of this. The leader of the group session left it at that, knowing that Ian would have to settle in to the group therapy atmosphere before he would feel fully comfortable with opening up to them all. For now, she was just happy with him turning up and experiencing the feel of a group therapy session and seeing others opening up, being able to see that others struggled just like him, but that they were getting better.

Lunch found Mickey absent from the table. Ian felt slightly uncomfortable inviting himself to the table without Mickey with him, but he did, sending them all a small, if slightly uncomfortable, ‘hey’.

“Where’s Mickey?” James asked as Ian was taking a bite of his chicken sandwich.

Shrugging his shoulders, Ian quickly swallowed the bite and replied, “Dunno’, assumed he’d be in here. Why?”

“Just weird. He always comes to lunch. Guy eats like a pig,” James laughed. “Oh, well, his loss.”

Not much was said after that. Ian felt slightly uncomfortable, like a cat sitting in a lion’s den, so he got up quickly once he’d finished, saying he would see them later as he went to get his pills.

When Ian got to his therapy session with Tanya, he sat down in the small room with her and waited as she handed him another copy of the sheet he had filled out yesterday.

“So, how are you today, Ian? You’ve come of your own accord, that must be a good sign,” she smiled warmly as she met his eyes.

“Umm, I’m feeling a little better today,” he returned the smile. It might not have been as full of cheer as hers was, but it wasn’t a particularly false smile either.

Tanya nodded her head, “That’s good, that’s really good. So, if you’d like to fill out the sheet again as you did yesterday, I’ll have a look at your diary entry, if that’s okay?”

Ian looked at Tanya before looking down to the notebook on her desk. Should he have written some of that stuff in there? He didn’t know if it was relevant. Should he request she didn’t read it?

Reluctantly, though, Ian nodded, accepting the pen she handed to him and filling out the sheet she had given him before.

As he looked back up, he noticed Tanya had a small smile on her face as she read.

“What?” Ian asked when he noticed this.

“Is this Mickey Milkovich?” Tanya asked, handing him the notebook back.

Ian stopped for a moment. He didn’t know Mickey’s last name now he came to think of it. It had never really come about in conversation; “Umm, I dunno’, it’s Mickey from the other day, the one who came to get you,” he trailed off uncomfortably as he looked down to his feet.

Tanya nodded gently, “Yes, the Milkovich boy. He really is lovely, just suffered some hard times. Not that everyone here hasn’t,” she quickly added. “Do you… care for Mickey?” Ian shrugged his shoulders. “Okay… do you get on well together?”

Again another shrug. “I dunno’, he’s been off, like I wrote. I don’t know if it’s me or something else.”

 “Well, I know that you wrote that he tried to explain to you what his condition entails, but you said you still don’t understand it. I can’t give you specifics on Mickey, of course, but I can help you to understand certain aspects of B.P.D. as a whole.”

Ian sat forward a little, interest evident on his features. And then Tanya began to explain how Mickey’s – people with B.P.D.’s – condition can be changeable, and can sometimes be changed instantly by the smallest of things, those of which can have an impact on their mood for the rest of the day and sometimes more. Ian discovered that there could be a lot of self-doubt and negative thinking, and that a lot of positive reinforcement was needed. She told him how relationships with B.P.D. sufferers tended to be intense, but sometimes unstable due to their changeable moods and emotions.

Ian had to try hard not to laugh at that last part. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh because of the idea of a relationship with Mickey or the idea that Mickey’s changeable moods would be difficult on him – him with his _bipolar_. He wasn’t sure, but he held it in and just nodded along.

“Does that help you at all?” Again, another nod from the redhead. “So, I’d like to talk about the accident you had that caused you to be admitted. Is that okay?”

“I… I guess,” Ian mumbled, twisting his fingers together awkwardly.

“Do you remember what put you in that situation?”

Ian thought back to the time of his accident.

_Ian had too much energy. Too much to contain. Rushing upstairs, Ian haphazardly packed a bag and a little cash and was suddenly leaving the house. Running. He needed to run. Ian was running for a long time. He began to feel free, open._

Ian remembered running that day. Now that he came to think of it, his feet were killing by the end of it, but he hadn’t cared. He had needed to do it, he didn’t feel he could cope being cooped up in the house.

_Wow, the party the night before was amazing. He wasn’t even hanging, he was euphoric. They were now driving out to another party. A bigger one. When they arrived at the venue, it was an abandoned warehouse._

At that moment, Ian had thought about how amazing it would be to crash an abandoned warehouse and party like there was no tomorrow. He remembered the party.

_Lights. Music. Clothes. A carpet made of clothes. Drugs going on everywhere. And then there were the naked bodies. People were laying on the floor, thrusting, licking. There was a lot of sex. Ian partook in a lot of it._

“Umm, can I… is there… can I get tested?” Ian asked hesitantly. He had been so buzzed that condoms hadn’t been a thought. His dignity hadn’t really been one either, though…

Tanya furrowed a brow. “Did you not use protection?”

“I was drugged up beyond belief, drunk off my ass, and… I just… I didn’t really care that much. There were naked girls all over the place.”

Tanya looked at him, asking “Sorry, did… did I misinterpret the Mickey situation?”

 _Did_ she misinterpret the Mickey situation? Did _he_ misinterpret the Mickey situation? Hell, he didn’t even know what was happening with the Mickey situation. Or what the Mickey situation even was. Maybe it wasn’t even a situation? Maybe Ian was making a mountain out of a mole hill? He didn’t know, it made his head hurt to try and get his head around it.

Ian stared at the floor for a while, his chin resting on his hands. “I… don’t know…” At Tanya’s curious look, Ian explained “Well, I… I don’t know myself. I mean, I’ve had sex with girls, but I’ve never had sex with a guy. Well, it’s a long story,” Ian sighed.

Tanya looked to her watch before nodding at him to continue.

Ian explained what had happened the first day he had arrived, his eyes staying on the floor.

“Do you… do you understand what I mean about Mick- B.P.D. sufferers experiencing changeable moods?” Tanya asked afterwards. Ian nodded his head. “Of course, unless you would like otherwise, none of what you have just told me will leave this room.” Ian’s head shook rapidly in agreement.  “Okay, that’s fine. And… how do you feel about your first experience with Mickey?”

“I… it was weird. But… I guess what you’ve told me kind of explains it.”

“So, how… do you feel about Mickey? Do you feel you can go to him for help if you need it?” Ian nodded. “Do you feel you would be willing to help him if he asked for it?” Another nod. “And do you enjoy spending time with him?” One final nod. “Well, for now then, that’s all that’s important I suppose.” Tanya cleared her throat before asking, “Would you like to ask me anything else? Talk about anything else?” A small shake of his head. “Well, continue to use the diary as your therapy task then, and I’ll see you on Monday.”

Ian looked up, “Would… I be able to take it with me? So long as I bring it back?”

Tanya thought for a moment before saying “Well, I don’t see any harm in that. And if you do want to get tested, Ian, I can send a message to the nurse and she can sort it out.”

Ian smiled and took the notebook that she was holding towards him, thanking her softly and leaving in a hurry.

When it came to free time, Ian went to his room and laid down to read, still not seeing Mickey. By the time Pip had arrived in London, Ian still had not seen Mickey, and he was starting to get a bit curious. Mickey usually came to see him. And he had been off. What was up? Had he done something wrong? Placing his book down, he went in hunt of his dark-haired friend.

After looking in all of the possible areas on Elm that Mickey could be and not finding him, he wandered down the stairs. A quick look in the main communal areas downstairs told Ian that Mickey must have been outside. So, that gave him the gym, sports area, or pool. Ian had never been to these places, so he had to follow the path in the hopes of finding one of these places as a start. Ian saw the sports area, but it was filled with people playing basketball along with a few huddles of people around the edges. Ian didn’t feel like walking in to that mass of strangers on his own. And so he gave a brief glance but didn’t find anyone who seemed to be of Mickey’s build and looks. Continuing along the faint path, Ian found a large building five minutes away, one wall completely covered by windows. Wandering towards it, Ian saw the sign on the wall that read ‘ _pool_ ’ and ‘ _gym_ ’. Pulling his I.D. card from where it was clipped to his pants pocket, Ian scanned the barcode over the reader at the door, and a green light flashed, a small _buzz_ being emitted from the door, and then he was able to pull it open. Ian felt quite uncomfortable as he wandered through the centre of the building, passing by a window that followed the length of the pool, and lockers lining the other side. At the end, he saw a set of stairs and another sign which told him that the gym was upstairs. Ian thought it safer to check the gym first before he tried to look for Mickey in the pool, ending up looking like a pervert.

The gym was separated in to two rooms: cardio and weights. Ian walked in to the cardio room first, looking for Mickey on the equipment as he did. There weren’t many guys in there of Mickey’s build, so it wasn’t too hard to work out if he was there or not. When he was sure he wasn’t in there, he wandered through to the weights room. This one wasn’t as easy to scan for Mickey. A lot of the equipment had people laying down in one way or another so that a quick glance wouldn’t suffice. And the fact that this room was a lot more popular didn’t help the matter much either. So, Ian began his rotation of the weights room, receiving some funny glances from people as he had to move himself around certain pieces of equipment to specifically search out their face. “Sorry,” he mumbled out quite a lot in that room, feeling like a CD that was stuck on repeat.

“Mickey?” He said as he saw a figure that he was quite sure was one of his roommates, going towards the person who was doing bench presses in the corner. He didn’t get an answer, but as he got closer he saw that it was the person he had gone in search of. He looked down at Mickey, seeing him with his shirt off as he benched a pretty decent weight.

Mickey set the bar down after three more reps before looking to Ian and saying “Great, you’re here. You can spot me. Chuck another five on each side, will you?” Mickey asked, sitting up for a minute to take off the collars.

Ian nodded slowly, picking up two five kilogram weights and putting them on to the bar, replacing the collars that he took from Mickey. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” Mickey asked, his voice sharp as he laid back down on the bench.

“Didn’t see you at lunch or in free time. I wondered if you were okay.”

Mickey gripped the bar, not looking at Ian as he repeated himself, “I said I’m fine.”

“Okay. You just seemed like you’ve had a stick up your ass all day,” Ian said as Mickey began to lift. The strain showed on his face as he exhaled heavily with each lift, Ian trying not to distract him as he spotted for his friend.

“Fuckin’… fine,” Mickey panted out heavily as he continued to lift.

Ian looked down at Mickey, watching his eyes actively avoid his own, the concentration clear on his face as he strained his way through his last two reps. “You don’t seem it,” Ian said softly, concern heavy in his voice.

“Yeah, well, I’m in this place… you expect me to be all rainbows and fuckin’ sunshine?!” Mickey asked, breathing heavily as he sat up.

Ian looked down, not knowing what to say. He didn’t think he had done anything wrong, but he also didn’t always think before he spoke. “You still need me, or-”

“Yeah,” Mickey snapped, cutting Ian off as he laid down again for another set.

Ian said nothing else as he just stepped back in to place to spot Mickey. “Are we… cool?” Ian asked hesitantly after a minute. Mickey grunted out a noise of agreement. At least, Ian thought it was agreement. It was difficult to work it out with Mickey’s pants becoming heavier. And then he saw the brief flicker of pain in Mickey’s eyes and quickly grabbed at the bar, taking the weight from Mickey to get it back in to the holder.

Mickey cleared his throat and sat up, trying to catch his breath for a moment before looking to Ian. “I had that…” he trailed off, looking down to his feet.

“Sure you did,” Ian chuckled lightly, smiling at Mickey, his eyes honestly smiling.

“Fuck you,” The dark-haired boy mumbled in response, forcing a smile that ended up looking more like a grimace.

Ian put a hand on Mickey’s shoulder, leaning down to him and whispering “Well, apparently I’m in to guys, too, because that was pretty hot to watch, so I’m gonna’ have to leave,” as he squeezed Mickey’s shoulder before winking at him and walking out of the gym. Ian wasn’t even out of the weights room before he heard footsteps behind him, and he knew it was Mickey.

Was he in to guys? Had he just said it in the hope that it might cheer Mickey up? He didn’t really know. Everything he had had before coming here was with girls, bar the guy who had tossed him off at the warehouse party. Well, he guessed he would find out if Mickey was game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I hate myself for leaving it there. Anyways, as I said, feedback is always welcome and appreciated.  
> Follow my Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume - for updates, spoilers, and more info on the fic.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What?” Mickey demanded.  
> “This is the second time you’ve been on your knees for me today,” Ian laughed.  
> “The fuckin’ things I do for you, Ian,” Mickey said as he finished tying off the bandage. He looked up to the boy whose leg he had been wrapping and pressed a gentle kiss on to the spot where the gauze had been before rolling down his boxers and standing back up. “Good as new,” he smiled gently. “Now, get dressed before someone decides to jump you,” Mickey joked, slapping Ian playfully on the shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. It should hopefully make up for the - cliffhanger? - last chapter.  
> Enjoy, and let me know what you thought.

As Ian left the gym, he heard the door close behind him and then footsteps. Running.

Suddenly, he was being tackled to the grass.

_What?_

Ian turned to see what had happened, and an angry looking Mickey was on top of him.

“Fuck you,” was whispered in to Ian’s ear.

“You okay, Mickey?” Ian asked, unsure of whether Mickey was angry or fucking with him. He knew that acting irrationally, having unstable emotions, was something that Mickey’s illness made him prone to. He also knew that he had pushed Mickey, had prodded at him when he clearly didn’t want to talk, and, even though he hadn’t known Mickey long, Ian knew it was about as safe as skipping through a mine field.

Mickey looked him dead in the eye and almost growled out a ‘no’ as he was standing up, pulling Ian along with a strength he did not expect and smashing their lips together. Ian responded to the kiss with an equally eager force. It was a hungry kiss. Almost a battle. Both of them fought for dominance of the kiss, and that only made it better. Mickey suddenly pulled back, looking at Ian and saying “That was fuckin’ cruel in there,” before walking away from Ian, going back towards the gym but not entering it. Ian followed after him, his fists clenched, his breathing still heavy from the kiss. Suddenly, Mickey had disappeared. Ian turned a corner, and hands were on him.

Blue eyes met his own as he was pulled flush to Mickey’s chest, “No, that was,” Ian replied before leaning in to press his lips to Mickey’s. His arms went around Mickey’s neck as he was kissing him harder, feeling Mickey’s hands reaching down to pull off his shirt.

“No fair for just me to be shirtless,” Mickey mumbled out as he pulled Ian’s shirt up over his head and threw it on to the floor, only now noticing the scar on his left pectoral. He brushed a thumb over it before leaning down to kiss along the length of the scar, running his tongue along it, causing a shiver to traverse Ian’s spine. And then his lips were moving upwards, his teeth dragging across Ian’s pale skin as he mumbled “How’d you get it?” He stopped at Ian’s neck, scraping his teeth across his pulse point lightly before pressing a kiss to it.

Ian’s head had been hung back the whole time as he replied “Time I thought I could fly,” his voice breathy and ragged, trying not to indulge in the memory too much.

Mickey hummed lightly as his teeth grazed on the lobe of Ian’s ear, his hand rubbing circles low on Ian’s hips, pushing at the boundaries of his pants. Ian’s hips began to roll against Mickey’s as he exhaled long and loud, his hands reaching down for the curve of his butt, squeezing when Mickey reached his lips again and began to kiss him with such a force it made Ian moan in to the other boy’s mouth. Mickey was turning them around and pressing Ian against the wall, letting his fingers hang against the waistband of Ian’s pants, slowly tugging at them as he ravished the redhead’s lips.

Ian felt painfully hard as Mickey teased the waistband of his boxers. “Ughh,” he moaned as Mickey pulled Ian’s boxers down a little, beginning to trail his way down his chest, his tongue dragging across his abs. Ian’s head was falling back against the wall as Mickey’s lips were on his hips, his teeth more active this time. And then Ian felt a shiver go up his spine as Mickey took him in to his mouth, his back arching as his hands sat in Mickey’s hair, gripping on to the pleasure that he was feeling. If Mickey didn’t look perfect on his knees, his hands now gripping on to Ian’s butt cheeks, his nails occasionally scratching, causing Ian’s hips to buck.

 _Fuck me, Mickey is good at this!_ Ian thought, unable to think of anything else apart from how perfect and how right having Mickey’s mouth around his cock felt.

Mickey continued to work his mouth perfectly, a final flick of his tongue causing Ian to come with a stifled groan as his hands sat at the nape of Mickey’s neck, his nails gently digging in.

Mickey pulled off, wiping a hand across his mouth, and stood back up, pulling Ian’s boxers with him and saying “I needed that after the gym and skipping lunch,” before going in to kiss Ian again. Mickey hummed against Ian’s lips as Ian slipped a bandaged hand in to his boxers. He wasn’t long in coming, what with how Ian had been before. Mickey came in to Ian’s hand, his hands gripping on to Ian’s shoulder hard as he did.

“I… I’m sorry I couldn’t, uh…” Ian mumbled, looking down as he pulled his pants up and turned away to retrieve his t-shirt.

Mickey caught his hand and pulled him back towards him, looking him in the eye and saying “You ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for,” before letting go of Ian’s hand. “Besides, it’s all learnin’ and experience,” he said as Ian pulled his shirt back on.

As the pair made their way back towards the main building, neither of them knowing the time, Mickey looked to Ian and said “Thanks.”

“For what? That? ‘Cause I mean, if we’re thanking, I think I should be the one doin-” Ian mumbled out, Mickey cutting him off.

“No, ya’ fuckin’ idiot. Although the bandage did feel surprisingly good.” Mickey laughed gently to himself. “I meant… I needed that. I… I was feelin’ kinda’ shitty, and I… well, I guess it was nice… you know. You comin’ to find me, _that_ ,” Mickey chuckled shortly, “kinda’… makes me feel like you actually care about me. Like… I dunno’, I… I end up seemin’ kinda’ needy, ‘cause of my, err, yeah, and it-”

Ian then stopped Mickey mid-sentence to say “You don’t have to explain it to me. I’m messed up, too, and you’ve put up with me, so… kind of makes us even,” he smiled softly.

“Thanks!” Mickey scoffed, punching Ian playfully in the shoulder as he laughed.

Ian laughed with Mickey, asking “So… what… shitty thoughts?”

Mickey shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah. Just loadsa’ negative shit, doubt, crap like that. It happens,” Mickey replied dismissively.

Ian smiled, winking at Mickey as he dashed up the stairs ahead of the dark-haired boy.

*** * ***

As Ian went up the stairs, Mickey couldn’t help but watch how nicely his butt was shaped by his pants as he took each step.

Mickey followed Ian in to their room, looking through the piles of fresh laundry and fishing out his clean clothes. He put Ian’s on his bed, along with his fresh sheets, and said softly “Damn, your ass looked fuckin’ good comin’ up those stairs.”

 _Bet it’d look fuckin’ better comin’ up my ass,_ he thought to himself, a half-smile crossing his lips.

Ian smiled back at Mickey, “Thanks. I’m still liking the shirtless look you’ve got going on there.”

Mickey laughed to himself, “Fuck, I left my t-shirt in the gym. That’s why you shouldn’t distract me, I forget my shit.”

“Good to know,” Ian mumbled to himself as he started putting the clean sheets on his bed.

Mickey looked to Ian before opening one of his drawers, “You need a hand with that?” Ian shook his head. “Okay, I’m gonna’ go for a shower.”

Nodding, Ian said “Okay, I’ll probably see you in there in a minute.” Ian laughed, “Wow, that sounded gayer than it was meant to.”

“I’m hoping so!” Mickey called behind him with a sharp, loud laugh as he headed for the shower room.

He heard Ian laughing, but couldn’t hear what he had said afterwards.

In the shower, Mickey stood facing away from the spray, his head hung back as he attempted to let the self-doubt, the shame, the anxiety, the negative thoughts, all of it just wash away down the drain. Ian was only a distraction, he wasn’t a cure, and Mickey knew that. How he wished Ian was a cure, but a distraction was all he could ever be. At the end of the day, Mickey knew that he would always have to settle for a distraction, because a cure was not a possibility, and that always left a slight bitterness within Mickey. There was the fact that Ian was a reminder as well – a perfectly painful reminder.

_“I love you,” Jake cried out as he came at the same time as Mickey, his hands gripping hard on to the dark-haired boy’s hips._

_“I… I love you, too,” Mickey replied, turning to gently kiss his boyfriend, running a hand through the red hair that Mickey loved about him._

_The door slammed open, “Over my fuckin’ dead body, do ya’!” Terry Milkovich was the epitome of rage. He was flying in to the room, his arms looking like something of a windmill, not stopping with each hit they dealt. Mickey tried his hardest to defend Jake, but he didn’t stand a chance against Terry Milkovich. Many a time had Mickey received a concussion, or a broken bone from his father, and this time was no different from the last. Mickey was knocked out pretty much instantly, hardly able to get a hit in with his dad clearly only seeing red – literally and metaphorically._

_Mickey woke up to find himself in an ambulance, disorientated and in pain. He looked to his side to see Jake bloody and beaten. If he wasn’t being held down by the paramedic, he would have jumped to Jake’s side and held his hand so tightly._

_The next day Mickey was discharged from hospital. He didn’t leave though. Jake wasn’t discharged. Jake was never discharged until it was on a gurney to the mortuary, and then to his funeral. The day of Jake’s ‘discharge’ was the day that Mickey made his second attempt at suicide._

Mickey had not realised he was crying until he felt his eyes stinging after a moment. He scrubbed furiously at his eyes, his fists clenched tightly. Ian was terrible and at the same time absolutely amazing for him. He brought back so many painful memories that Mickey had tried so hard to fight back, but then… looking after Ian… it almost gave a Mickey a little satisfaction. He hadn’t been able to take care of Jake, but he could still take care of Ian. And taking care of his own perfect little distraction was the nearest to a cure Mickey would ever get. The nearest to penance and forgiveness to himself.

*** * ***

Ian walked in to the shower room a little later, setting his things down on the work surface so he could take the bandages off of his knuckles. He left the bandages on his thigh to hopefully keep the stitches a little drier than if he didn’t wear them. The bruises on his knuckles were now a deep purple, but the swelling had gone down and the cuts were scabbed over and on their way to healing. He stripped down, going for a shower and quickly washing off before heading back in to his room. He saw Mickey was laying on his bed as he entered in his towel.

“Jesus Christ, Ian, if you’re planning on giving Mickey a show, at least give us a warning, so we know when to leave,” Jared laughed, jumping down from his bunk. “Come on, James, let’s give them some space. Besides, I need to get my pills before dinner. Changed my meds, so I have to go before I eat. Saves queueing though,” Jared said with a shrug, gesturing for James to follow him.

“See you at dinner?” James asked before leaving. He sent a smile to the pair left in the room when they nodded a yes to him.

“You okay?” Ian asked Mickey, who seemed quiet. He received a nod. “Where did you put the spare bandages from the nurse?”

“In your drawer. You might’ve put your fresh clothes on top of ‘em,” Mickey said, looking over Ian’s copy of _Great Expectations_ at the redhead.

Ian looked where directed and found the fresh bandages and gauze. He took them out, along with a fresh pair of boxers, and slipped them on before dropping his towel. As he rolled up the leg of his boxers, he saw Mickey watching him from the corner of his eye.

“I kinda’ wanna’ watch the struggle of you tryna’ do that, but then at the same time I just can’t. I know that struggle all too well,” Mickey mentioned when he realised he had been noticed. He hopped down from his bed and went towards his roommate, moving his hands away as he unrolled the damp bandages and removed the gauze from Ian’s leg.

Ian didn’t say anything, and just let Mickey do what he was. He saw the slight sadness in Mickey’s eyes as the stitched-up cuts beneath the bandages were revealed.

“Hold this, will ya’?” Mickey asked once he had positioned the gauze. Ian did as he was asked, smiling down at Mickey softly who was on his knees and beginning to wrap the bandage around Ian’s upper thigh. Ian found it mesmerising to watch those strong, intimidating hands (yes, hands could be intimidating when they had _FUCK U-UP_ tattooed across the knuckles and scars from beatings which had been dished out), be so surprisingly gentle. Ian chuckled to himself lightly. “What?” Mickey demanded.

“This is the second time you’ve been on your knees for me today,” Ian laughed.

“The fuckin’ things I do for you, Ian,” Mickey said as he finished tying off the bandage. He looked up to the boy whose leg he had been wrapping and pressed a gentle kiss on to the spot where the gauze had been before rolling down his boxers and standing back up. “Good as new,” he smiled gently. “Now, get dressed before someone decides to jump you,” Mickey joked, slapping Ian playfully on the shoulder.

“Is that someone gonna’ be you?” Ian retorted.

“If you don’t put some clothes on, yeah. And you know I’m a perfect fuckin’ gentleman, so don’t tempt me.” Mickey winked at Ian before throwing a pair of pants at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there you go, some more adorbs as fuck Mickey and his feels. Please give me any feedback, lovelies, I really appreciate all of your comments and kudos.  
> As always, if you're not, feel free to follow my Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotostume - for updates, spoilers, and all that about this fic and any others.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clearing his throat, Ian spoke, “I guess that I quite like what we have going. But I just need to know if you have any intention of this thing being friends with benefits or more like boyfriends.” Ian paused for a second before scoffing “Wow, that sounded gay.”  
> Mickey couldn’t help but laugh at that last part. “Ian, you’re doin’ shit with a guy, that already makes it pretty fuckin’ gay to begin with.” He slowed the speed of his treadmill, intending to go to the weights room soon.  
> “Okay, fair point, but answer me.”

On Saturday, Ian was contacted by Kurtis, asking him to meet him after lunch. After a very leisurely morning and lunch, Ian traipsed towards Kurtis’ office up on Larch, not really sure what to expect from the conversation. He didn’t think he had done anything that would cause Kurtis to want to speak to him.

Kurtis smiled as he turned in his chair to greet Ian, “Ian, hi. Please, take a seat.” Ian did as requested, sitting in the seat on the other side of Kurtis’ desk that he had gestured him to. “How are you? Settling in okay?”

“Umm, yeah, I’m kind of getting the swing of things. Made a few friends. So, yeah, I’m good.” He replied, half-smiling at the blond man.

Nodding his head, Kurtis rubbed his hands together “Good. Good, that’s great to hear.” A short and sharp clear of his throat before Kurtis leant forward in his chair, leaning his elbows on his chest. “So, let’s get down to business. I’ve called you in to talk to you about visitation and phone privileges.” There was a small silence between the pair as Ian said nothing; “So, as I explained before, you can have family or friends over sixteen come to visit you on a Wednesday and/or Sunday afternoon. And you get your call every other day. Now, I hear that you and your family left on bad terms before you were admitted. Is that correct?”

Ian nodded his head, “Yeah… we weren’t too great,” he mumbled.

“Yes. Well, you may be happy to know that they haven’t held a grudge, and have called everyday asking to hear how you are and when they can come and visit. For now, I have simply explained the general rules for visitation and phone calls to them each time and reassured them that you’re settling in well. Now that you’ve had time to get your bearings, I’d like to see how you want to go about visits. I’ve heard of no problems that wouldn’t be expected of a newcomer, so if you would like, you can call your family and they can come up and visit. However, you can also choose to just call them for this week. It’s entirely up to you.” Kurtis took a sip of his coffee, “What would you feel most comfortable with?”

Ian sat and thought for a minute. He didn’t want to hate his family. They were right that he probably was bipolar, but that didn’t give them the right to compare him to Monica. They were nothing alike. Ian wouldn’t allow himself to become a burden to others, and that instantly separated him from Monica. But… at the moment he didn’t fully forgive them for that comparison. Maybe it was because he couldn’t forgive himself for acting in a Monica-like way without realising, and so he didn’t think it was fair for him to see them.

“Um, can I just… leave it until next week?” Ian mumbled, looking down at his hands.

Nodding his head, Kurtis said “That’s absolutely fine. And if you change your mind, and as long as you let me know before lunch, I’ll be able to arrange for your family to come up in time for visiting hours.” Kurtis wrote something quickly before saying “Okay, well, unless you have anything else to ask me, then that’s all I need to see you about. Thank you for coming up to see me,” he continued when he received a shake of the head from Ian.

Ian thanked him quietly before walking out of the office and making his way back downstairs to his room.

As he lay on his bed, hands behind his head, Ian stared up, his eyes meeting Mickey’s bunk. Ian felt terrible for not seeing his family, making them aware of his wellbeing by way of another person over the phone, but he also felt as though he needed this space from them, this time to figure out who he was and who he could be. As for who he would be? He would figure that out when he got out. But for now, he needed to learn about himself with others like him, with a support system, and with nobody else telling him who he was or whom he had to be.

“Hey, where’d you get to?” Mickey asked as he walked in in a towel.

“Had to speak to a guy about visits and shit,” Ian replied, still staring up at Mickey’s bed.

Mickey nodded, “That’s good, get your family down here and shit,”

Ian shook his head, “Nah, not coming down. I’ll see how I feel about them coming up next week maybe.”

Sitting down at the foot of Ian’s bed, Mickey asked “Why not?”

Ian shrugged his shoulders, “Just didn’t come here on great terms with them.” When Mickey said nothing, Ian looked to him to see that he was just staring at him, as though waiting for him to continue to speak. “They, uh, they kept on saying I was acting like Monica,” he now looked directly at Mickey, his face firm, “I am _not_ like Monica. That woman ruined our lives! She left us with a drunk for a dad. Fiona wasn’t even eighteen when she left, and she had to take care of us. All five of us, herself, and Frank. I’m nothing like that woman. I’d never do something like that to them.”

Mickey put a hand on Ian’s leg, “I know. And your family probably knows that too, they were just scared after what happened.”

Ian shoved Mickey’s hand from his leg, “Don’t stick up for them. Just don’t. I know I probably sound petty, but… I just… I need my time to decide how I feel about it.” He sighed heavily, “I know you’re probably looking at me like I’m a little bitch because they were just concerned and shit, but they know what Monica was like. And they should have known how much it hurt.”

“Okay,” Mickey replied, not saying any more than that, not really feeling like there was anything else he _could_ say.

Ian suddenly stood up and was pulling out the swimming shorts, towel, and wash bag from his drawer. “Well, I’m gonna’ hit the gym and then go for a swim. You coming with?” He asked as he was about to walk out of the door.

Mickey hesitated momentarily before shrugging his shoulders and saying “Eh, fuck it, I have good memories of the gym, so why not,” as he retrieved the same items as Ian and walked towards him. He then stopped for a moment, went back to his drawer, and pulled a disposable razor from a small bag, tucking it in to one of Ian’s pockets. “Might have to cancel on the swim though ‘cause of your stitches. Depends on how well they’ve healed or not,”

Ian looked at Mickey for a moment before pulling his pants and boxers down in one go: “Have a look for me then.”

“Jesus, give a guy warnin’ before you just throw your dick in his face,” Mickey laughed as he pulled Ian’s boxers back up with a chuckle. He then began to undo the bandage that he had put on the other day, lifting away the gauze to look at the stitches in Ian’s thigh. He brushed a thumb lightly over them. “Hurt?” Ian shook his head. “Sit down so the light goes on your leg,” he instructed. He then looked closer to see that the skin had started to heal over a little. A little unsure, he said “I’d give it at least another day, then we can go see the nurse and she’ll tell you whether it’s healed enough They’re the ones that absorb, so she won’t need to take them out.”

Sighing, Ian nodded his head and replied “Okay, Nurse Mickey. Well, gym it is then, I guess,” throwing his swimming stuff back on to his bed.

Picking up his things, Mickey put them back in to his drawer, doing the same with Ian’s discarded items. “Razor? I’ll put it in your bag,” Mickey asked, extending a hand to Ian.

Ian handed it to Mickey, smiling and thanking him. “Come on, then, let’s go.”

*** * ***

Mickey watched as Ian pulled off his sweatshirt and tossed it in to one of the lockers before heading up to the gym, getting a good luck at Ian’s butt again as he went up the stairs.

“I’m gonna’ go for a run first to warm up. You coming or going straight to the weights?” Ian said when they got to the top of the stairs.

Mickey thought about it: “Well, I could either go to the weights then meet you in there, maybe do some legs, or I could come for a run and watch you,” he chuckled, “well, it’s such a tough decision.” He then followed Ian in to the cardio room and they got on to a treadmill each. It was easy enough to get two next to each other as there weren’t many people in the cardio room, just a few people on bikes and cross trainers and one guy on a treadmill at the other end.

The pair started out with a gentle jog, Ian increasing his incline a little.

“So… I… I kind of want to ask you something… if that’s okay,” Ian said, his voice sounding slightly uneasy.

Mickey nodded his head lightly, “Yeah, I guess.” He wasn’t sure what to expect, and whether it would be good or bad, but he tried not to show his worry.

Ian was quiet for a moment, “So, what… is this?” he began.

“A gym,” Mickey laughed, trying to lighten the air that was already becoming denser with discomfort.

“You knew what I meant,” Ian mumbled.

Mickey felt uncomfortable. He, too, was quiet, not sure what the answer to Ian’s question was.

“I mean, it was pretty quick, I’ll be honest, and possibly a little weird at the start… but we’re obviously in here for a reason,” Ian chuckled to himself more than anything towards the end. “I just need to know, ‘cause, like I said to you, I want to work things out and sort my shit out, and I can’t do that if I don’t have all of the information.”

Mickey’s heart seemed to beat uncomfortably fast for the speed he was running at. He didn’t know what to say. This was a weird set-up that they had, but Mickey liked it. He liked the informality and ease. Most of all, though, he just liked spending time with Ian. Ian was, as he had heard the nurse say that he needed, good at levelling him out. The problem was that Mickey didn’t want to overwhelm Ian, but he didn’t want to lose him either. He couldn’t lose him.

“I… I don’t know. What do you want it to be? I don’t wanna’ force you in to anythin’,” Mickey finally said.

He didn’t look sideways, knowing that he didn’t want to see the emotions that were on Ian’s face.

Clearing his throat, Ian spoke, “I guess that I quite like what we have going. But I just need to know if you have any intention of this thing being friends with benefits or more like boyfriends.” Ian paused for a second before scoffing “Wow, that sounded gay.”

Mickey couldn’t help but laugh at that last part. “Ian, you’re doin’ shit with a guy, that already makes it pretty fuckin’ gay to begin with.” He slowed the speed of his treadmill, intending to go to the weights room soon.

“Okay, fair point, but answer me.”

Again, Mickey was silent. “Umm, I wouldn’t say that we’re really friends with benefits. I guess that’s always kinda’ been no strings at all. But, like, we sorta’ take care of each other a little. So, yeah…” Mickey trailed off, bringing the speed of his treadmill down again. He was feeling very uncomfortable, and he needed to get out of here.

Ian stepped on to the sides of the treadmill, pressing the stop button before getting off and gesturing for Mickey to follow. On the way to the weights room, he looked to the dark-haired boy and said “I just didn’t know. You know, ‘cause there was instant touching and shit, so I didn’t really know your intentions, I guess.”

“I know. I, ah, you kinda’ reminded me of someone, and… I lost that person, so when I first saw you it was like a shock, like when it’s good and bad feelings at the same time, so I kinda’ acted on a dickish impulse.” Mickey paused, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, “I feel bad about what happened then, ya’ know. I’m sorry about that.”

“Was it the guy your dad found you with?” Mickey nodded his head. “Were... you guys involved?”

“Yeah, I loved him,” Mickey sighed. “That’s what first drew me to you, the fact that you looked like him. I was havin’ a shit day, and you were there, lookin’ fuckin’ perfect as you slept, and I wanted you. As a reminder. But… you actually turned out to be a pretty cool guy,” Mickey explained. “Look, can we either cut the gym or talk about this later?” They had been standing outside of the weights room for a while, and Mickey was starting to feel a little uncomfortable.

Ian nodded his head, turning to make his way downstairs to fetch his sweatshirt and head outside to where they had been the other day. Mickey followed after him, pulling his t-shirt off over his head before he sat down on the grass next to Ian, laying back with his hands behind his head. Ian laid back as well.

“Well, now I kinda’ forgot what we were sayin’.” Mickey admitted, laying his arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun. Ian laughed gently. “Look, Ian, I guess… well, if you want… we can see how this goes and shit, but if you don’t want any of that then I’ll stop.” And then Mickey felt a presence close to him, and Ian’s lips were on his and the pair were kissing softly.

“Well, I think I made my answer pretty clear,” Ian said as he cleared his throat.

“Yup, received loud and clear. Though, I gotta’ explain to you what you get with me.” Mickey said, sitting up, “I’m… well, I’ll come across as clingy, might seem a bit eager. There’ll be times when I’ll feel like you’re smotherin’ me, and others when I’ll feel like you’re just abandonin’ me.” He explained this before looking at Ian with a slightly sad look, “Just… you know, in case you needed an out,” he shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, laying back down and looking away from Ian.

“Oh, shut up and kiss me,” Ian demanded.

And Mickey obliged, putting a hand on Ian’s cheek and bringing him closer. “Okay, you’re definitely shavin’ when we get back. I wasn’t lyin’ about the clean-shaven thing. Now, come on, Chewbacca.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed it, lovelies. Let me know what you thought if you'd like.  
> As usual, follow my Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume - for update info, spoilers, and other fics.  
> Stay fab, lovelies!


	11. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mickey-”
> 
> “Can you just shut up and kiss me?” Mickey asked, cutting Ian off.  
> Ian laughed lightly, “I guess that can be arranged,” he said as he stood up from the chair he had been sat in and perched himself on the edge of Mickey’s bed, putting a hand on his cheek and pulling him closer. “Sorry, didn’t get a chance to shave,” he laughed gently before crashing his lips on to Mickey’s, their lips moulding together as Mickey laughed in to his mouth.  
> When Mickey pulled back, he whispered “I guess I can forgive you if you can forgive me for being a fuck-up.”  
> “You’re not a fuck-up,” Ian replied, knocking his shoulder in to Mickey’s.  
> “Ow, way to beat the fuckin’ cripple,” Mickey said, “talk about abusive boyfriend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. I'm sorry. It had to happen.  
> Again, very sorry.  
> I'll leave.

Back in their room, Ian was climbing in to his bed, reaching for his copy of _Great Expectations_ that was under the bed on the floor. Ian then sat back to continue reading, letting himself fall in to the book eagerly. He read through several chapters before he was disturbed by James coming in to the room and telling him to get up; “Mickey’s in the clinic,” he explained. “He’s unconscious. I thought you’d want to know.” He gave Ian a sad look before sitting down on his bed. Ian was quickly pulling on his pants and t-shirt and heading down to the clinic, his heart pounding with unease and uncertainty.

When he arrived, the nurse pointed him towards a curtained-off bed in the corner. “I’ll be over in a minute,” she told Ian before going to her desk. Ian liked how she hadn’t even had to ask why he was there, that she had just known that it was to see Mickey. She had not even tried to stop him, which was all the more reassuring of Mickey’s condition. He hoped.

Ian walked past the beds that homed several people for reasons that weren’t obvious in all of them. Some lay with bandaged limbs whilst others lay peacefully, as though simply sleeping. His feet moved quickly as he went towards the bed that held Mickey, unsure as to what had put him in there. Heading through the curtains, Ian found Mickey laying on the bed, his eyes closed. Visibly, nothing seemed to be wrong with him, but Ian knew that there must be something if the curtains were pulled around him. He sat in the chair beside Mickey’s bed and took Mickey’s hand in his own. And then he knew why Mickey was here. Both of his wrists had thick bandages on them. Ian looked down at him with a sad expression. Why had Mickey done this? He had seemed so happy earlier.

When the nurse came over, she looked to Ian, explaining that he had been found in the shower by someone with both of his wrists slashed open and a piece of shattered crockery with him. He had come in unconscious an hour ago and hadn’t woken up since. He had lost a lot of blood, though, so was on iron supplements as well as his regular pills and an all manner of pain killers.

“Were you with him today?” The nurse asked at the end of telling Ian what had happened.

Ian nodded, “Yeah, we were at the gym, and then we were talking and he seemed pretty happy. I… I don’t know, he’s been pretty chill these past couple of days, I don’t know why he’d do something like this.”

She shook her head gently, “He hasn’t been in for anything like this in a long time. He’s been doing so well. Anyway, he should probably wake up before this evening. You’re welcome to stay with him, of course.” She sent Ian a sympathetic smile before leaving, pulling the curtains closed behind her again.

Ian squeezed Mickey’s hand, whispering “Oh, Mickey…” He sat back in the chair, his hand still holding Mickey’s.

For an hour, Ian still sat waiting for Mickey to wake up, but he didn’t. A clock told him it was nearly five thirty. He sighed sadly before leaning his head on the edge of the bed, looking up at Mickey, his hand still not leaving his.

He was woken by Mickey squeezing his hand before pulling it away. Ian jolted up, looking to see Mickey rubbing at his eyes and biting his lip nervously.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice slightly croaky, looking down at his hands which he was now twisting together in his lap.

“Jesus, Mickey. Are you okay?” Ian said, concern filling his voice. Mickey nodded his head gingerly. Standing up, Ian pressed a kiss to Mickey’s forehead, “I’m just gonna’ go get the nurse,” he told him, giving his hand a quick squeeze before going.

“He’s awake,” he told the nurse, his face the epitome of relief. He then went back to Mickey’s bed with the nurse following behind him.

“Mickey, how are you?” The nurse asked calmly as she put her stethoscope in to her ears, Mickey knowingly leaning forward to allow her to check his back and chest.

He nodded his head, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

She then took his blood pressure, writing this information down, before asking “Mickey, I need you to tell me honestly, was this a suicide attempt?”

He stared at her for a moment, “No, it wasn’t a suicide attempt, I just fucked up,” his tone flat and sure.

“What do you mean?”

“I just needed to do it. Didn’t realise how deep I’d gone. I just… I needed it…” he sighed, looking down, his expression appearing as though he felt ashamed.

The nurse looked at him and said “Now, you need to be assessed to see if we should monitor you more closely. Will you talk to your therapist? He should still be here.” When she received a nod from Mickey, she made her way to her desk to call for his therapist to come down.

Ian moved his chair closer to the bed before looking at Mickey, “I was worried,” he whispered softly, brushing a hand over Mickey’s cheek. Right now, all Ian wanted to do was touch Mickey. Feel him. He wanted to know that Mickey was there and he was okay.

“No reason, I had it under control. I always do. Like I said, it _wasn’t_ me trying to off myself. It was just the same as when you cut yourself, it’s no big deal.” Mickey replied offhandedly, rolling his eyes.

“Do you want me to leave?” Ian offered, feeling as though he might not be wanted there.

Mickey’s eyes darted to Ian, “No.” Rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, “I’m sorry if I seem like I’m being a little bitch, I’m just pissed off. I honestly didn’t mean to do it so bad. You believe me, right?” He sighed, reaching for Ian’s hand, looking to the younger boy with an almost pleading look.

“I don’t have a reason not to,” Ian replied, taking Mickey’s outstretched hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Just… don’t go worrying me like this again,” he said, leaning towards Mickey to gently brush a kiss on to his lips.

Mickey nodded his head gently, “Wouldn’t dream of it, princess,” he laughed softly.

When Mickey’s therapist arrived, he greeted the pair of them. “Mickey,” the large man said.

“Hey, Perry, d’you, er, mind if Ian stays?” Mickey asked as he shuffled his feet up, allowing Perry a place to sit.

He smiled appreciatively “Yes, that’s fine. Is Ian the one you’ve been speaking about recently?”

Mickey blushed slightly as he said, “Yeah, he is. I told you he’s better-lookin’ in person than I could describe, too,” he laughed, as did Perry, whilst a very subtle heat crept up behind Ian’s ears.

“So, Mickey, try and convince me to keep you out of solitary,” Perry started, pulling a pen from his jacket and getting ready to write as Mickey spoke.

“Okay… where to start. Wasn’t a suicide attempt. I just fucked up a little and didn’t realise. You can ask Ian, I’m not suicidal. I’ve had a couple of off days, but you know it’s been ages since I’ve done anything like this,” Mickey reasoned, ”I’m too happy to want to do anything stupid. Just think back to our past few sessions.”

Perry wrote a few words down before asking “Okay, then why did you do it?”

“I needed to.”

“Mickey, how long have you been seeing me to know that that answer is not going to do?” Perry asked, chuckling lightly.

“Worth a shot,” Mickey huffed out a laugh, “I… I’m a bit of a commitment-phobe, you know that. Ian and me were talkin’ earlier, about, like, what’s gonna’ happen between us and shit. Basically, I’m gonna make Sleepin’ Beauty here my boyfriend.” Mickey cleared his throat, “He’d be the first since Jake, and… I… I felt like I was betraying Jake, or tryna’ replace him. I just… needed to give myself a little reality check. I needed to sober myself up, you know?” Mickey had taken Ian’s hand when he had first mentioned Jake.

“Mickey do you understand that wasn’t the most rational way to ‘sober up’?”

“Yeah, course I fuckin’ do, but, like I said, I just fucked up. It’s the first time I’ve done anything like that in months. Don’t really have any desire to do it again, just wanna’ get somethin’ to eat and sleep in my own bed.” Mickey concluded, his look of trust and belief in Perry quickly turning to one of discomfort which met the floor.

Perry nodded his head, writing a little more, “You need to give me some help here, though. You need to find another way to ‘sober up’ if you feel like this again. Do you have any ideas?”

“If it makes you happy, Pez, I’ll go and cry like a fuckin’ baby on Ian’s shoulder.” Mickey laughed.

Perry rolled his eyes “Now, put that in to terms I can use. Like, you know, communicate my feelings better to my partner, or write down how I feel. Come on, you know what I’m looking for.”

“Fine, do the partner one, I feel comfortable talkin’ to Ian, so it’s not like I’m gonna’ hold back from ‘im. I woulda’ done this time but I just didn’t wanna’ make ‘im feel guilty or anythin’, ‘cause none of it was his fault.” He looked to Ian and smiled softly, his eyes reiterating the last thing he had said, almost asking him ‘ _you know that, don’t you?_ ’ which Ian nodded gently in response to.

“And you’ll make better use of the crisis team, won’t you?”

“Yeah, sure. But like I said, it wasn’t intended to be a crisis,” Mickey put in.

Perry nodded his head, “I understand, but we don’t want anything like this to happen again. But if it makes you happy, you’ve given me enough that I should be able to keep you out of solitary. Now, the nurse wants you to stay in overnight, and she’s ordered some dinner up for the pair of you, and has sorted it so she administers your pills this evening. Now, behave, Mickey,” Perry chuckled to himself as he stood up and said goodbye, “It was nice to meet you, Ian,” he said as he left, briefly speaking to the nurse.

Ian gently rubbed circles along Mickey’s palm as he said “I’m sorry… if I made you feel under pressure or anything.”

Rolling his eyes, Mickey said “Oh, shut up, you fuckin’ know it ain’t your fault. It’s mine. My own fault for bein’ messed up and not always dealin’, so can we just let it go now?”

Ian looked at Mickey hard for a moment before saying “Did you take it from my drawer?”

“What? I thought we were lettin’ it go,” Mickey said, averting his eyes from the redhead sitting beside him.

“Mickey,” Ian interjected, his voice firm.

Shrugging his shoulders, Mickey replied, “Yeah, so what if I did? I didn’t want you to have it. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. My biggest regret with you is telling you to do it that night. I...” Mickey hesitated for a moment, looking down in to his lap, “… you don’t want to be stuck with these shitty scars, remindin’ you that you that you can’t cope, people noticin’ them, askin’ you ‘bout shit, or lookin’ at you, or feelin’ so embarrassed and ashamed that you’ll wear a long-ass sweater durin’ the hottest fuckin’ summer. You don’t want that. And once you start in one place, you will be more likely to experiment in others, and it all just ends up bein’ a mess.” Mickey was staring in to Ian’s eyes with desperation as he had spoken, his grip tight on Ian’s hand. “Just… find a better way to deal, talk it out with your therapist, but don’t do that shit,” he pleaded with desperate eyes.

“Mickey-”

“Can you just shut up and kiss me?” Mickey asked, cutting Ian off.

Ian laughed lightly, “I guess that can be arranged,” he said as he stood up from the chair he had been sat in and perched himself on the edge of Mickey’s bed, putting a hand on his cheek and pulling him closer. “Sorry, didn’t get a chance to shave,” he laughed gently before crashing his lips on to Mickey’s, their lips moulding together as Mickey laughed in to his mouth.

When Mickey pulled back, he whispered “I guess I can forgive you if you can forgive me for being a fuck-up.”

“You’re not a fuck-up,” Ian replied, knocking his shoulder in to Mickey’s.

“Ow, way to beat the fuckin’ cripple,” Mickey said, “talk about abusive boyfriend.”

Ian didn’t say anything, instead he just looked at Mickey in confusion.

“What?”

“Umm, you called me an abusive boyfriend,” Ian prompted, an eyebrow raised.

Mickey looked at him, “Yeah, that’s ‘cause you just pretty much beat me while I’m in here in a hospital bed, butt-flap gown and everythin’.” Mickey defended.

Ian bit his lip gently in thought, “I… didn’t think we were boyfriends, I thought we were just going to see how it goes…”

Shrugging his shoulders, Mickey said “Whatever, your choice,” sitting backwards slightly and disregarding the conversation in an instant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it, my lovelies. Let me know what you thought.  
> As per, follow my Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume - for updates, spoilers, and other stuff about this and other fics.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, young grasshopper, we have come to see how your skills of location are,” Jared said, trying to do a stereotypical sensei-type voice. “And if they are adequate, we shall invest in your discovery.”  
> Ian rolled his eyes, “All right, well, I’m gonna’ leave you guys to trial the table alone. I expect a full report by lunch,” he grinned, leaving the dining room to get his pills.  
> When he made his way back in to his room, he was shocked to see Mickey atop his bed, Great Expectations in his hands.  
> “Took your fuckin’ time, didn’t ya’?” Mickey said, not looking away from his book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom. Chapter Eleven. Enjoy!

As if the discomfort had become noticeable, the nurse came through with their food. “Here you go, boys. Now, I’m going to be finishing in five minutes, and then Gail is taking over for the night shift. She’ll do your pills after you’ve eaten. I can brief her of what’s happened, but you’ll need to leave before lights out, Ian, okay?” Dawn told them, smiling as she placed the tray which held their dinner and drinks on the hospital table that was at the end of Mickey’s bed.

Ian nodded his head, “Thanks, I will.”

Ian stood up to slide the table up the bed so that Mickey could eat off of it, bringing his own food on to his lap on the chair he had retreated to. For the most part, they ate in silence, the only noise that was heard being the occasional scraping of cutlery on crockery and Mickey sometimes slurping his drink a little too loudly.

“Ian Gallagher and Mickey Milkovich, I’m meant to be giving you your meds,” Gail said rounding the curtain.

“Hey, Gail,” Mickey said, extending a hand for his pills, sending her a lopsided smile.

Going towards Ian, the plump nurse smiled and said, “You must be Ian,” handing him his pills and a glass of water. With her tight bun and large bosom, Gail looked very much like Miss Trunchbull, the hard headmistress from _Matilda_. However, her beaming smile and silky voice suggested otherwise, and actually made her seem quite motherly and caring.

“Thanks,” he smiled weakly, taking them and showing her his mouth when she asked. Mickey did the same before she began to examine him, asking him questions and taking readings, the pair conversing like old friends.

“Okay, sweets, I’m just going to change your dressings. Dawn said they would need one this evening,” the nurse told Mickey as she walked away to fetch a disposal dish and fresh dressings, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves when she had returned. “Just let me know if it hurts at all,” she mentioned as she began to unwrap the old dressings, placing the blood-stained bandages and gauze in the cardboard tray.

Ian saw the first deep cut, blood still trickling out in certain areas through the stitches. Mickey’s wrists were red and raw, the skin swollen, and Ian looked away, feeling like his looks were intrusive.

*** * ***

He tried hard not to look for Ian’s reaction when the bandages were taken off of his wrists, but curiosity got the better of him. Mickey looked up in time to see Ian’s eyes widen a little before he turned his head away. Mickey himself turned away. Feeling ashamed of what he had done, and how far he had gone, Mickey didn’t look up until the fresh dressings were on and Gail had left. Having Ian see him lose control made it feel all the more real. Earlier, Ian has simply seen bandages, but now he had seen Mickey’s not-so-handiwork.

“I know, I’m pathetic,” Mickey finally commented when neither of them had spoken for several minutes. “I’m sorry you had to see that. You… you can go if you want,” he mumbled out the last bit as he reached for his cup of water to distract himself, feeling his face fall, much like his entire mood and demeanour.

“You’re not pathetic, I think you’re hurting,” Ian finally said, looking at Mickey with an unreadable expression. “And I’ll only go if you want me to.”

“You know I don’t, but I don’t want you to stay here if you don’t want to.” When Ian made no attempt to move, Mickey asked “Can you just… come and lay down with me for a bit and pretend that I didn’t make shit awkward earlier?”

Ian nodded, laying down on his side on the space that Mickey had made for him. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Ian laughed, making Mickey smile and nudge him in the chest with his elbow.

“Thanks,” Mickey mumbled as he shuffled down to lay beside the red-haired boy. “I’m sorry for worryin’ you, too.” Mickey didn’t know if Ian had heard him as his voice had come out so small, so meek.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ian said nonchalantly, putting a hand on Mickey’s arm and sliding his fingers up and down slowly.

“So, then, I have to ask, do you prefer to be the big spoon or the small spoon?” Ian asked, attempting to break the uncomfortableness.

Mickey laughed loudly, “I ain’t a fuckin’ spoon. Sometimes I hug, other times I’m hugged. I ain’t fussy on that. Only thing I’m a little fussy on is whether it’s going up my ass or I’m havin’ to put it up someone else’s,” he nudged Ian’s arm playfully. That might have been a little crude for Ian, he wasn’t sure. But Ian didn’t answer him, he just looked at him with raised eyebrows. “What?”

“And? Which is it?” Ian asked, keeping his face straight.

Slightly taken aback, Mickey scoffed a little. He shrugged his shoulders as he thumbed his lower lip, his tongue slipping to the corner of his mouth after her stammered out a few broken syllables. “What can I say, when it comes to fuckin’, I prefer to be the small spoon,” he told Ian, winking.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t have put you for that,” Ian admitted.

Mickey didn’t really know what to say, so he just shrugged lightly and put a hand over Ian’s which was still trailing lines up and down his bicep. He brought it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to it before letting their fingers slip together.

Ian made Mickey happy. Really happy. Mickey felt as though he didn’t want to let this amazing guy go, he wanted to keep him for himself and protect him from all of the shit in the world. But he also knew that he was very capable of letting his emotions take over his brain, making him act irrationally. He knew that he had pretty much latched on to Ian instantly. And someone would point out that his intense feelings towards Ian were probably a result of his illness, and that he was imprinting. But he didn’t care. He wouldn’t let his illness stand in the way of what could possibly be something so raw and real for him. For now, he would push those niggling thoughts to the back of his head.

He deserved this after Jake… right?

*** * ***

Ian brushed a hand over Mickey’s cheek as he slept. He had drifted off about half an hour before lights out. Standing up as gently as he could, trying not to rouse the sleeping boy who was beside him, Ian looked to Mickey once more before leaving the clinic, thanking the nurse on his way out. As he made his way back to his room, his mind kept on wandering to the fact that he had inadvertently provoked Mickey in to hurting himself. And Mickey could deny it all he wanted to, but Ian knew that if he hadn’t brought up the intentions between the two of them, Mickey wouldn’t have felt guilty or upset, and he wouldn’t have cut himself. He wouldn’t be laying in a bed in the clinic right now whilst Ian was about to go back to their room to sleep in his own bed.

The call for fifteen minutes before lights out could be heard echoing through the corridors as Ian walked the last set of stairs before Elm. He flashed his I.D. card over the reader on the door and entered Elm, heading to his room to get his wash bag. As Ian lathered the soap in his hands, he looked in the mirror with a sigh before rubbing the soap suds in to the stubble (if it could still be classed as stubble), trying to ignore the pestering thought of Mickey, just focusing on not nicking himself as he shaved. He knew he wouldn’t live it down if he cut himself shaving and Mickey saw. However ironic it would be, Mickey would laugh to the point of falling out of his bed and getting a concussion.

Back in his room, clean-shaven and minty fresh, Ian told the others that Mickey was fine and would be out tomorrow, if all went well, before settling down for the night. He laid under the covers with a hand on his thigh, his thumb putting a constant pressure on the stitches, just enough to settle his mind.

Morning couldn’t come soon enough for Ian. He woke up with blood on his hand, leg, and sheets. With a sigh, he stripped his sheets, threw them on the floor and went for a shower, bandaging his leg up again. When he returned to him room, he found James and Jared still sleeping away. The clock read eight fifteen, so he gave James a nudge on the leg with his foot whilst knocking Jared on the arm. “Guys, got any laundry?” He asked when they slowly woke up.

“Mmm, under the bed…” Jared grumbled out, dropping a hand over the edge of his bed to point to the floor, his eyes not opening. “Be lovely if you wanted to take it for us…”

“Lazy shits,” Ian chuckled, as he swept a foot under James’ bed to find a pile of clothes and towels. He kicked them to the pile before going through Mickey’s drawers to find a bunch of screwed up clothes and towels, which he threw to the floor. A quick strip of Mickey’s bed before Ian was making his way towards the laundry chute with his first load. After the second lot was gone, Ian made his way to the dining room.

Breakfast seemed as though it wasn’t a particularly popular meal on weekends. There were many empty tables, so Ian got himself a glass of orange juice before selecting an empty table by the window. He liked his spot by the window, it felt… freer. Maybe it was because there was so much natural light, or because the window let a very gentle breeze in. It was like breakfast at home, someone always walking through the door, sending a gust of wind in. He didn’t know, but either way, the spot was very refreshing. For a fleeting moment, Ian contemplated trying to arrange for his family to come and see him, but then he reminded himself that they had betrayed him.

As Ian was about to head for another glass of juice, Jared and James stumbled towards the table he was on.

“Hey,” James said as he plonked himself in to a seat.

“What’s up?” Ian replied, smiling.

Jared shoved a piece of toast in to his mouth before saying, crumbs littering the table, “Thought we’d come and check out the new table, see how it is.”

James nodded, “Yeah, if it’s good, we might actually wake up early,”

“Or on time,” Ian put in.

“Yeah, so we might even do that so we can claim it as our own if it’s good enough,” James finished, brushing off Ian’s comment.

“Ah, try before you buy,” Ian observed.

“Yes, young grasshopper, we have come to see how your skills of location are,” Jared said, trying to do a stereotypical sensei-type voice. “And if they are adequate, we shall invest in your discovery.”

Ian rolled his eyes, “All right, well, I’m gonna’ leave you guys to trial the table alone. I expect a full report by lunch,” he grinned, leaving the dining room to get his pills.

When he made his way back in to his room, he was shocked to see Mickey atop his bed, _Great Expectations_ in his hands.

“Took your fuckin’ time, didn’t ya’?” Mickey said, not looking away from his book.

“Sorry, some of us need to eat,” Ian retorted, shoving Mickey’s leg playfully. He then stood on the edge of his bed, catching Mickey’s face and pulling him in for a kiss. When he went to pull away, Mickey’s hand was keeping him there, fisted in his sweatshirt so he couldn’t pull away. “You’re such a sleaze,” Ian chuckled when they separated.

“Yeah, I am, and you fuckin’ love it,” Mickey replied, pushing Ian back and off of his bed so he could jump down.

“Fuck you!”

“Any time you want, just let me know,” as Mickey said this he received Ian’s middle finger waving around in front of his face.

“Asshole, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Subconscious. Freud shit an’ all that,” the dark-haired boy joked, nudging Ian’s arm. “Trust me, when it comes to it, you’re gonna’ wanna’ put your dick up my ass so bad you won’t even understand it.” To answer Ian’s questioning look, Mickey explained “My ass is fuckin’ gorgeous!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if you aren't already, follow my Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume - for info, spoilers, and updates on the fic.  
> Leave me lovely feedback and such if you enjoyed this chapter.  
> * * *  
> So, for now, updates will only be weekly as as I’m working too much to be able to find time to write and keep up with the updates as well. Also maybe a smidge of writers’ block. But I will try my hardest and let you know when/if I’m able to go back to twice-weekly updates.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You needed to see them, to know that they do care about you. They’re not against you. Could you see in there, Lip just wanted to know if you were okay,”  
> “No, he wanted to know if I was losing my shit or not,” Ian mumbled in response, pushing himself against Mickey’s warmth.  
> “Looked a lot like he was just concerned,” Mickey said, still stroking Ian’s soft, pale skin as he sighed heavily, flexing his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note, chaps, Mandy is Lip’s age (nineteen), in this. I wanted her to be older than Mickey for the story to kind of flow (Mickey is almost eighteen, and Ian is somewhere in his sixteenth year). She’s only a couple years older than’s cannon, but just roll with it.

“Hey, come with me,” Ian heard, pulling him from his book.

Furrowing his brow, he looked up to see Mickey in the doorway, “What? I thought you were supposed to be seeing Mandy.”

“I am, she wants to meet you. You’ll love ‘er. So, come on, princess, chop chop,” Mickey laughed, coming in to the room to slap Ian’s butt quickly as he lay on his stomach.

Batting away Mickey’s hands, Ian stood up, tucking his book under his pillow and following his roommate. Mickey led them to the communal hall where they completed their therapy tasks, which was now full of people.

“This way,” Mickey instructed, jerking a head in the direction he was walking in. Mickey began to slow down, and Ian noticed him slowly tugging his sleeves down, gripping the cuffs of his sweatshirt in his fists with an urgency.

Before they were even there, Ian knew who Mandy was, because Lip was sitting next to her at the table that Mickey was leading him to. Not thinking, Ian grabbed Mickey by the wrist, pulling him to an instant halt. He gave the Milkovich boy a hard look, his eyes firm and accusatory.

“Ah, fuckin’ Jesus!” Mickey hissed, snatching his wrist from Ian and glaring at him hard, rubbing it slightly whilst his body shielded him from his sister. “What the fuck’s your problem?”

“What the fuck do you think is my problem, Mickey?” Ian said flatly, his facial expressions still unchanging.

Running a hand through his hair, Mickey said “Can we talk about this later?” Before Ian could reply, Mickey was speaking again, “That wasn’t actually a question. Just… trust me and give this shit a go.” Mickey had caught Ian’s hand in his own briefly to give it a reassuring squeeze. When nothing was said in response, Mickey took it as a sign to go ahead, and so he continued to the table, Ian following behind.

“Yo, Mandy, d’you remember ‘im? You probably had to tell ‘im to fuck off a couple times when you and Lip wanted to fuck. I bet he was cuter back then,” Mickey said as he sat back down, grinning at his sister.

Mandy nodded her head, “Yeah, I do. Man, he looks so much older. He’s still cute, though.” Mandy cleared her throat lightly, “D’you remember me, Ian? Me and your brother went out a couple years ago.”

Ian nodded his head, “Yeah, how could I forget, you forgot to wear pants around the house half the time you were there. Fiona was ready to chase you with the bat.” He laughed lightly.

Nodding her head, Mandy replied “Yeah, she’s at that point again,” her cheeks flushed a little. “We’re sorta’ back together a little.”

Ian didn’t respond. He didn’t look at Lip either, he just hoped that Mickey would take the hint and talk again, killing the dead silence that was unearthing itself around them.

“Yeah, they were talkin’. Funny story. Mandy mentioned she was back with Lip on the phone, and then she said that he’d mentioned about his brother comin’ in. She asked if I knew an Ian, and, well, here your brother is,” Mickey explained, nudging Ian’s ankle with his foot.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Ian put in, his voice monotone.

“How you doin’?” Lip asked.

“Haven’t done a Monica and slit my wrists through dinner if that’s what you’re asking,” Ian spat.

“Well, I guess that’s good to hear.” His brother’s voice was unsure, worrisome. There was a small silence before Lip said “Everyone sends their love. Debs misses you. She said I’m not as good as you when it comes to making pancakes – I can’t make them in the cool shapes like you do,” Lip laughed awkwardly.

Ian nodded his head gently. Not really knowing what to say. Or if he really wanted to say anything at all. Instead, he just stared down at his hands in his lap, pushing against where his stitches were beneath his pants and the bandages.

And then Mickey’s hand was on his own, moving the hand away from where his thumb was putting the pressure on his leg, squeezing his hand gently, reassuringly – knowingly.

“So… how’s it lookin’ for you, Mick?” Mandy asked, clearing her throat.

Mickey nodded his head gently, “Yeah, better,” he gave her a reassuring smile.

“Good,” Mandy smiled in response, looking at her brother adoringly.

There was another uncomfortable silence, Mickey’s hand still tight on Ian’s, as Lip sighed loudly, “Look, just… just tell me you’re okay and… I’ll go,” he said, sounding exasperated.

Ian looked up to his brother for the first time, “I’m in a fucking mental house,” Ian said, his face firm. And then he was standing up and walking away from the table. Sighing and running a hand through his hair, Ian felt furious as he stopped in his tracks. A loud scream was emitted before he turned to punch the nearest wall as hard as he could. It was a moment before Ian began to storm up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“Hey!” Ian heard from behind him.

He didn’t stop to turn around, he just continued on his way to Elm.

The person followed him up the stairs; “Yo, Ian, fuckin’ stop!”

Ian once again did not turn, and just yelled behind him “Fuck off!”

“No! I ain’t gonna’ fuck off, I’m gonna’ keep followin’ you… ‘cause someone needs to!”

Ian finally stopped, looking behind him to see Mickey catching up with him. He stared at him dumbfounded for a moment. “Why?”

“You need to see them. Whether you know it or not, you need to,” Mickey explained, looking at Ian with his mouth pulled to one side. And then Ian was walking away, Mickey following after him.

Ian was flashing his card to enter Elm, making his way to their room and laying down on his bed. Then, he didn’t know what to think or what to feel. Seeing Lip had been terrible. He was still angry at his family collectively, and was projecting that on to Lip, but the minute he had seen Lip a small part of him had wanted to just throw himself at his brother and hug him. Lip and he had always had such a powerful relationship, they just gelled well. He supposed it was because they were both of a similar age and brothers. It was easier for them to talk together than for him and Carl, but today he felt it would have been easier to talk to Carl. Perhaps it would have been easier because Carl was younger, and would have just agreed with what the others said about Ian as opposed to forming his own opinions. Being honest, he would have taken Liam. The kid was too young to even understand, so he would have just gabbled baby talk at Ian, and that probably would have been the most sobering and comforting thing that he could have experienced right now.

With a sigh, Ian curled in on himself, flexing his fingers on his right hand. His knuckles were bloodied and throbbing.

“Keep your sheets clean,” Mickey instructed, handing Ian some tissue as he sat down on the bed, only to have Ian turn away from him.

As Ian now faced the wall, the tissue pressed to his hand, he felt some movement on his bed before an arm went around his waist, and Mickey was holding him, stopping him from pulling away.

“I’m sorry I put you on the spot,” Mickey whispered, bringing his hand up to gently brush a thumb against Ian’s cheek. Ian flinched beneath him slightly. “Hey,” his voice was soft but with a little hurt beneath it. His hand then went down to Ian’s hip, rubbing softly at the spot where Ian’s top had ridden up slightly. “You needed to see them, to know that they do care about you. They’re not against you. Could you see in there, Lip just wanted to know if you were okay,”

“No, he wanted to know if I was losing my shit or not,” Ian mumbled in response, pushing himself against Mickey’s warmth.

“Looked a lot like he was just concerned,” Mickey said, still stroking Ian’s soft, pale skin as he sighed heavily, flexing his fingers.

*** * ***

Mickey looked at Ian as he held him, his hand not stopping. He wished he hadn’t had to deceive Ian like he had, had to challenge the trust that he was slowly attempting to earn. Letting himself breathe in Ian’s scent, Mickey mumbled in to the back of Ian’s neck “Thanks… for not saying anythin’ to Mandy,” before pressing a kiss to the spot his lips were against.

“Not my place to say,” Ian explained, turning over to face Mickey. He shrugged his shoulders lightly, not looking the older boy in the eye, just staring in to his chest. Ian raised his battered hand and began to trail small lines over Mickey’s chest with his finger, calming himself as he did.

“Like… it wasn’t my place to bring Lip here?” Mickey prompted, noticing the slight underlying bitter tone in Ian’s voice. Mickey noticed Ian flinch momentarily before he received a small nod. “You know… I’m only doin’ what I do to help you, right?” Another small nod, more hesitant this time. “I’ve been where you are… I thought I didn’t need help, thought that I could do everything on my own, but I couldn’t. I told you… I needed Mandy to snap me out of it, to help me make a start. You don’t need to be in here longer than they think you do… I don’t wanna’ see you makin’ it harder for yourself…” Mickey trailed off as Ian’s hand had moved slightly. It was making a slow descent, and Mickey could see Ian’s eyes were intently following it, his lips creeping in to a small smile. “Ian…” Mickey said slowly, almost like a warning.

“Mickey,” Ian drawled out in response, his finger sliding Mickey’s sweatshirt up so that he could run his finger along the waistband of his pants, causing Mickey to breathe out long and hard.

Jesus, what the fuck was Ian doing? Mickey had just had to all but chase him here, and now he was trying to get Mickey hard. He placed a hand over Ian’s, stopping him momentarily as he asked “What are you doin’?”

Ian shrugged his shoulders and replied “Just seeing what happens between us,” as he took Mickey’s hand away from his own, continuing to tease Mickey’s waistband.

Watching as Ian let a finger slip underneath the fabric, Mickey felt his breathing becoming less even as Ian let another finger slip in. Soon, his hand was inside his boxers and gripping his hard cock, moving experimentally as he now looked up to Mickey. “You’re such an ass,” Mickey mumbled as Ian began to move his hand quicker, staring him in the eyes hard.

“You love my ass,” Ian replied as he pulled his hand back, his own breathing heavy.

“Mmm, I do,” Mickey mumbled out before he was putting a hand on Ian’s cheek, pulling the beautiful ginger boy’s lips to his own, crashing them together as he was pulling Ian’s sweatshirt and t-shirt up in one go. Their lips were only parted for a brief moment as Mickey pulled the clothes over Ian’s head and discarded them before hungrily connecting their lips again. Mickey’s hands were dishevelling Ian’s hair, pulling at it as he felt Ian’s tongue entwine itself with his own. There was a fumbling as the pair hurried to sit up so Ian could pull Mickey’s sweatshirt off, then his t-shirt. Ian’s hands were around Mickey’s, his thumbs gently rubbing against the bandages on his wrists. Mickey flinched for a second. He suddenly felt embarrassed, and almost pulled his hands away from Ian’s. But then he stopped himself, and instead brought his hands up and put them around Ian’s shoulders, dragging them across Ian’s soft skin as he let his lips make their way to Ian’s neck.

“Oh, Mickey…” Ian mewled, his head falling to the side, allowing Mickey better access as he let his teeth nip and suck at the pale skin.

Mickey felt his cock twitch at the way Ian said his name, his voice deep and throaty as his hands were pulling at Ian’s pants, bringing them down in one swift movement along with his boxers. He heard Ian gasp at the friction of his clothes being removed. Mickey’s hands were on Ian’s butt instantly, squeezing as he went up to kiss the boy.

“Fuckin’ love this ass,” Mickey said between pants, his lips barely parting from Ian’s.

“Oh, yeah?” Ian asked, his tone challenging as he stopped, his eyes daring Mickey to show him. Mickey was pushing Ian down, kissing his way down his chest before landing at his cock. He took him in his mouth, causing Ian to groan out a “Yes!” as his hands were in Mickey’s hair. God, Mickey wasn’t usually in to having his hair pulled, but Ian seemed to do it in such a way that Mickey couldn’t say no to, a way that made his toes curl and his fists clench.

Mickey could hear Ian’s breathing getting deeper. He pulled off, noticing Ian look down to him in shock momentarily before Mickey was turning Ian over so he was on his front. Gripping Ian’s butt cheeks, massaging the flesh gently, Mickey was on his knees in between Ian’s legs. He began to kiss his way up Ian’s thigh that wasn’t bandaged, his teeth dragging between each kiss. As he got closer to Ian’s butt, he stopped, settling for a spot just beneath the perfect curve of his behind to bite down, his hands still squeezing at the pale flesh. The groan that came from Ian’s mouth caused Mickey to moan against Ian’s leg. Then his lips were continuing their ascent to Ian’s butt, his hands moving to the sides to allow him to kiss and suck at the spot where his hand had been, leaving a hickey there.

“Mickey…” Ian mumbled, lifting his face from his pillow to turn and look at Mickey. “You’re killin’ me…” he groaned.

Stopping, he climbed up the redhead’s body, holding his weight over him as he asked “Do you trust me?” his voice gentle and breathy against Ian’s ear. He then let his lips press a small kiss to the spot behind Ian’s ear and made his way round to the back of his neck.

He was kissing it gently as he heard Ian whimper out a small “Yes,” and then he was on his way, his heart beating in his chest, creating a bass to emphasise the tension.

His lips were quickly making their way down Ian’s back and back towards his butt. He could feel Ian’s back arching against him as he pressed a kiss to the spot between the top of his cheeks. And then he was letting his tongue slide down, his hands firm on Ian’s butt cheeks as he squeezed them, parting them gently.

“I… Mickey…” Ian mumbled out as Mickey teasingly avoided his destination.

And then he was tentatively letting his tongue brush against the ring of muscle, causing Ian to gasp and buck his hips slightly. Waiting, to see if Ian objected, Mickey playfully nipped Ian’s butt cheek that had the hickey on it before returning, his tongue teasing Ian’s hole, pressing it against the muscle experimentally before working his tongue inside of Ian. Ian’s hands where in Mickey’s hair, gripping it tightly as Mickey moved his tongue with skill. He pulled back, slowly brushing his tongue against Ian playfully.

“Mickey… do… wow… do it again…” Ian begged, his nails scratching against Mickey’s scalp.

Mickey looked up at the boy begging him to finish fucking him with his tongue before he laughed gently and returned, his tongue working quickly, causing Ian to let out some noises which were new and amazing to Mickey.

Pulling back, Mickey was turning Ian over again, once again taking Ian’s throbbing cock in his mouth, allowing his finger to just gently brush over Ian’s hole as he sucked him off. Ian was rocking against Mickey’s finger, looking to him pleadingly as he scraped a hand up Mickey’s back. Mickey ever so slightly eased his finger in to Ian, and then Ian was panting heavily, moving himself against Mickey’s finger whilst his mouth was still around him. And then he was coming hot and heavy in to Mickey’s mouth, still moving himself gently.

When Mickey had finished, he pulled away, wiping his mouth before looking at Ian, he still seemed to be affected by his orgasm.

“I… that was…” Ian stopped for a moment, “I can see why you enjoy being a bottom,” he finally articulated, his eyes hooded and dark.

“I can… I mean, I’m still hard if you wanna’…” Mickey said, shrugging his shoulders and gesturing down to the evident erection through his pants.

Ian shook his head, “I, uh, I meant to mention to you that I wanted to get tested,” he mumbled, now seeming embarrassed. When he received a questioning look from the older boy, he said “I had a lot of sex before I was in hospital. I was so high that I didn’t even think about a condom.”

Mickey looked at Ian for a moment before saying “Well, I guess we both need a trip to the clinic,” trying not to make Ian feel uncomfortable.

Ian just nodded his head and went to dress himself.

“Hey, come ‘ere,” Mickey said, catching Ian’s arm as he pulled on his boxers. He then caught the younger boy in a gentle kiss, “Don’t feel awkward, we’ve all had it happen,” he reassured Ian, pressing a kiss to his temple before putting his shirt on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, lovelies, your response to this has been lovely so far. And I appreciate you all understanding about the bigger-gap-between-updates thing. So, because Sundays are a better day for me to update, I thought I'd give you this one (it was meant to be yesterday, but yesterday was a rough day), as the official start of the once-weekly updates rather than making you wait a week and a half.  
> Anyways, let me know what you thought. And follow my Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume - for any info, updates, or spoilers about the fic.  
> Stay fabulous, my lovelies.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Imagine all the people… living for today!”  
> Ian had been the first down, and had listened to the song for a moment before the others came running down. Admittedly, Monica’s singing voice was terrible, but he had quite liked the song nonetheless. After complaining at Monica for waking them so early on a Saturday, Ian had asked her what she was singing.  
> “I dunno’, some song by some weird British band from the sixties.”  
> Ian had never gotten round to finding out what the song was, but the tune had always stuck with him, and it was one he found quite soothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a thought when writing this and realised that whilst I try to use as much of an American dialogue as possible (I’m British, but when I write something based in America I like to try and use that dialogue so it fits in more with the thoughts of the characters), but I thought about the fact I use ‘sweatshirt’ a lot, and that it should probably be ‘sweater.’ I’m not sure if I’m right though, I mean a sweatshirt, like one you’d wear for gym at school or something, but I see a sweater as a knitted jumper. Is that right? Either way, just so you know for visuals, I deffo mean a sweatshirt.  
> Anyways, enjoy, lovelies.

In the clinic, Ian and Mickey both had a full screening done after answering some personal questions. Ian found the whole ordeal quite uncomfortable, while Mickey was just very stoic throughout the process, a blush not rising to his cheeks once, whereas Ian’s skin was almost giving his hair a run for its money. They were told by Josie (she was the weekend nurse), that they would get their results in a week, so to be sure they should come back a week on Monday.

As they made their way back to their room, in a silence which Ian felt was very awkward, he heard himself muttering out a small “Sorry,” and not looking up at Mickey to see his reaction.

“Don’t,” Mickey replied, brushing his hand against Ian’s gently. “It ain’t like I get tested regular either,” he said after a moment, shrugging his shoulders to himself.

Ian said nothing, and simply carried on as they made their way back to their room, finding James asleep on his bed, snoring loudly. Ian plonked himself on his own bed, pulling his book out from where it had been put under his pillow earlier that day, and continued to read, not really saying much. He was quiet until dinner time, when he traipsed his way in early, intending to get the table in the corner that he had eaten his breakfast at that morning.

He had left Mickey dozing on his bed, not wanting to speak to him right now. He couldn’t stand how Mickey was being so chill about it when Ian could have given him H.I.V. for all either of them knew. It felt as though Mickey was consistently trying to coddle him, not wanting to hit him with any extreme emotions that may affect him. But it made him feel like a porcelain doll, like he was too delicate to be treated like a normal person.

Luckily, when he had gotten his dinner and some water, the table was empty, and he made a beeline for it, tucking himself by the window again. He looked outside briefly to see it was raining, and a few drops were coming in through the open window every so often, leaving dark grey spots on his sweatshirt. He sighed lightly as he began to eat, feeling a heavy guilt still running through him.

Only when he became conscious of the fact that he was not eating any more, and was just pushing the remnants of his dinner around his plate, did he stand up and put the left over lasagne that was now a brown mush in to the bin, leaving his dirty dishes in their respective piles.

As he walked out of the dining room and up the stairs, he saw Mickey walking down with James and Jared, and tried as hard as he could to not be noticed by them. Of course, as Ian’s luck would have it, James noticed a moment after passing him, and said “Yo, Ian, not hungry?” He hadn’t thought about the fact that his fiery hair made him quite easily identifiable, and as a result made being invisible rather difficult.

“Starving. Came down as soon as I could,” he replied, his voice rushed, before making his way back up to Elm to get his pills and head for a shower, not allowing for any more conversation to pass between them.

The water pounding down on his back allowed Ian to relax ever so slightly. He finally decided to make an effort to clean up his hand a little, washing away the dried blood which had little bits of tissue stuck to it. He winced slightly as the hot water hit some of the raw skin, and shook his hand before leaning his head back to wash his hair and face, the water relaxing some of the muscles which had tightened from the constant frown he had had. He then hung his head forward to allow the water to massage the seemingly-constant knots in his shoulders, and began to gently hum a song that he remembered Monica singing one time when baking in the kitchen. She had sung it when she was in a manic episode, and had woken them all with the song.

_“Imagine all the people… living for today!”_

Ian had been the first down, and had listened to the song for a moment before the others came running down. Admittedly, Monica’s singing voice was terrible, but he had quite liked the song nonetheless. After complaining at Monica for waking them so early on a Saturday, Ian had asked her what she was singing.

_“I dunno’, some song by some weird British band from the sixties.”_

Ian had never gotten round to finding out what the song was, but the tune had always stuck with him, and it was one he found quite soothing.

“Beyoncé, whatcha’ singin’?”

Ian was pulled from his thoughts by a voice. He snapped his head up to see Mickey with his head poking through the shower curtain. For a moment, Ian was shocked, and went to cover himself. Mickey laughed. It was a moment before Ian’s low laugh accompanied Mickey’s, remembering that only a few hours ago had Ian been naked on his bed with Mickey’s face pretty much between his butt cheeks.

Ian shrugged his shoulders lightly, “Dunno’, a song Monica sang one time. I liked the tune.”

Mickey nodded his head gently before stepping away from Ian’s shower. And then a few moments later Mickey was stepping back in, naked. “Hey,” he said softly, smiling at Ian. “Mind doin’ my hair? I ain’t meant to get these wet,” he lifted up his arms, his wrists still heavily bandaged.

“Sure,” Ian replied, reaching up to run his fingers through Mickey’s hair as the water poured down on them. Mickey kept his hand up against the wall so the bandages wouldn’t get wet. “I thought you were going for dinner?”

“I ate somethin’. Wasn’t too hungry, though, I was a bit preoccupied with the guy I like ignorin’ me,” Mickey replied, knocking his butt back against Ian’s leg. When Ian didn’t reply, and just began to lather up some soap in his hands and scrub it in to Mickey’s hair, Mickey spoke again. “Ian, shit happens, okay. We can’t change nothin’, so don’t beat yourself up over it. Like I said, I don’t get checked regular, so I could’ve given you somethin’, we don’t know. But… don’t ignore me because of that,” he turned to look at Ian, putting a hand to his cheek. “Please.”

Ian nodded his head gently, leaning forward to kiss Mickey. “I’m still sorry, though,” he mentioned after a minute, “just… in advance.”

This caused Mickey to laugh and punch Ian’s arm playfully. “You’re such an ass. Now, you gonna’ clean me or just stand there and stare at my dick all day?” Mickey asked, a grin plastered across his face.

“I guess I should take pity on the injured,” Ian chuckled, picking up his soap and lathering it in his hands before beginning to rub his hands along Mickey’s biceps, going along to his shoulders and then down his back. Ian could feel his cock becoming hard as it gently brushed against Mickey’s when he was washing his back (butt, but Ian would deny that).

Mickey looked down at their hard cocks before saying “Well, if we’ve got anythin’, it ain’t goin’ away any time soon,” and laughing lightly. He then leant forward to bring Ian’s mouth towards his own, turning the shower off as he did.

*** * ***

Monday came, and Ian found himself up early – almost five thirty – and was dressing, grabbing his swimming shorts and towel before leaving his room, bumping in to a monitor on his way out.

“Where you goin’, kid?” a burly-looking guy asked.

Ian stopped, looking to the guy and replying “Gym. Run. Swim. Can’t sleep,” his answer hasty and sharp. And then Ian was walking away, not waiting for a word from the monitor as he continued down the hall with a spring in his step.

Letting himself in to the gym, Ian made his way up the stairs quickly and went to the empty cardio room. He dumped his things on the floor and was hastily setting off on the treadmill, starting at a jog but soon pushing himself in to a run. For half an hour he kept up his pace before he started to feel a slight burn in his calves. Hopping off of the treadmill and slamming his hand on the stop button, Ian picked up his things from the floor, got himself a cup of water from the cooler by the door and made his way down to the pool, taking the steps two at a time as he downed his water.

As Ian swam, he felt like he was home, remembering each summer they had put the pool up. Sometimes there would be small children with them in the pool from Debbie’s day-care, other times it would be the Gallagher gaggle along with Kev and Vee. He always had good memories of that pool. And right then as he swam, he felt a small longing for his family. Only for a moment. He brushed away the feeling before stopping and just letting himself float on his back, his arms and legs out like a starfish.

Only for those few seconds did Ian feel as though he could do anything, like he was invincible. A noise from around him stopped him, and Ian looked up to see a couple of girls walking in to the pool. It must have been the door that had jolted him. He swam to the edge and got out, looking at the clock to see that he had been in the pool for a good forty minutes. Drying himself quickly, Ian made his way back to his room, his roommates still sleeping. Quietly, he got his wash bag and headed for a shower. Whilst in the shower, Ian sang, rubbing soap over his body as he did, his movements erratic.

“Jesus! Some of us are trying to fucking sleep!” A voice said, interrupting Ian’s song.

Peeking through his shower, Ian saw a tall guy with blond hair. “Sorry, I’m sorry. Just in a good mood. Sorry!” Ian called out, putting a hand up to the guy before he continued to shower.

“Just fucking keep it down,” the guy warned.

“Will do. I’m real sorry, man,” he shouted out to the guy as he left. And then Ian was humming loudly to himself as he finished off in the shower, stepping out and wrapping his towel low on his hips. Ian made his way across the hall in to the bathroom to brush his teeth and use the toilet. As he looked in the mirror whilst brushing his teeth, he saw the faint stubble on his jaw. No, he couldn’t have that. As quick as anything, Ian was shaving, his mind wandering to Mickey as he did, and that put a grin on his face. _Jesus_ , Mickey was definitely something. He was something that Ian needed to keep around. He was something amazing.

Walking down the hall, his clothes over his arm and his wash bag in his hand, Ian swung his hips as he whistled cheerily, bobbing his head lightly.

“Christ, you’re cheery for seven,” the monitor he had bumped in to earlier commented as Ian walked past him. Ian simply nodded his head extravagantly in response.

Back in his room Ian found his roommates were still dead to the world, and he chuckled lightly to himself. He put his things away in to his drawers before climbing up on to Mickey’s bunk and straddling his sleeping form. He began to gently rock his hips against Mickey’s as he kissed across his chest.

“Wha-” Mickey mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he sat up on one elbow.

“Shh,” Ian whispered as he moved up to Mickey’s lips, latching on to them as he put a hand on the dark-haired boy’s cheek, feeling the slight stubble.

Mickey responded to the kiss after a minute before pulling back; “Mornin’,” he mumbled to Ian. He raised an eyebrow before saying “You’re naked.”

“Shh,” came again from Ian, a smirk on his lips.

“Come on, get up,” Mickey laughed quietly, jerking his head in the direction of the door. He matched the growing grin on Ian’s face, following Ian off of the bed.

Ian felt Mickey’s hand pinch his butt lightly when he had gotten down. The pair dressed eagerly before they were heading out of Elm, the monitor Ian had previously passed giving him an odd look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hope you enjoyed it. If you want to be a real babe, feel free to leave me a comment or some kudos or whatever. As per, follow my Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume - for updates, spoilers, and info on this fic and any others.  
> Stay fab, lovelies.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, Mickey, just kiss me right now,” Ian argued, pulling Mickey’s face closer to his own, “you can look after,” he mumbled between kisses. His hands pulling down his roommate’s pants and boxers and settling on his hard cock stopped Mickey’s fussing.  
> “Oh, Gallagher,” Mickey mumbled as the boy in question began to pump his hand momentarily before moving his hand to Mickey’s butt, squeezing as he sucked on Mickey’s bottom lip, his teeth grazing against the delicate skin. “Woah,” Mickey gasped as Ian’s hand had moved and he began to crouch down.

Ian had Mickey’s hand in his own, pulling him down the stairs and towards the gym as he told him about his morning. As they flashed their cards to be allowed in to the gym, Mickey said “Wait, so you swam with your stitches in?”

Ian nodded his head, shrugging his shoulders as he headed for the guys’ changing room; “It was a nice swim, too. Pool’s a great temperature,” Ian commented.

Once in the changing room, Ian was smashing lips on to Mickey’s, his hands wrapping round his neck as he did, teasing the soft hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Hey, stop a sec’,” Mickey said, pulling away from the kiss begrudgingly. “Trust me, I’m more than happy to do stuff, just let me check your stitches quickly, okay?”

“No, Mickey, just kiss me right now,” Ian argued, pulling Mickey’s face closer to his own, “you can look after,” he mumbled between kisses. His hands pulling down his roommate’s pants and boxers and settling on his hard cock stopped Mickey’s fussing.

“Oh, Gallagher,” Mickey mumbled as the boy in question began to pump his hand momentarily before moving his hand to Mickey’s butt, squeezing as he sucked on Mickey’s bottom lip, his teeth grazing against the delicate skin. “Woah,” Mickey gasped as Ian’s hand had moved and he began to crouch down.

Ian took a deep breath before taking Mickey’s cock in to his mouth and doing to the older boy what he had liked receiving. He was experimentally crooking his finger as Mickey’s hands were gripping tight on to his shoulders.

“Ugh,” Ian heard come from Mickey’s mouth as a hand went in to his hair, grasping at his still-damp locks.

He was surprised by how much giving a blowjob didn’t make him gag. He actually didn’t mind it that much. He mimicked what he remembered Mickey doing with his tongue, and Mickey was coming undone in his mouth. Ian could feel Mickey clenching as he came, his finger still moving as he tried his best to swallow as much of Mickey’s cum as he could. Before he’d had a chance to pull off, Mickey was pulling him up and kissing him hard, his hands pulling his pants down, licking the cum that had dribbled out at the corner of his lips.

Ian was then pulling away from Mickey, turning him round and inserting two fingers in to Mickey, causing him to let out a low groan.

Ian was moving and scissoring his fingers as Mickey rocked back against him, turning to look at Ian only to pant out “More…” and Ian obliged, adding a third finger, feeling his own cock throb within his boxers. When he took his hand away to pull down his boxers, Mickey turned to him and said between breaths “You sure…?” An eager nod from Ian sent Mickey down on his knees, where he pulled down Ian’s boxers and took him in to his mouth, taking him as deep as he could. He wasn’t long before pulling off and leaving Ian’s cock covered in his saliva “Makes it a little easier – for you and for me,” he explained before he was turning and putting his hands on to the surface by the sinks.

Ian was quick in easing himself in to Mickey’s warmth before taking a hold of his hips and gently moving. Mickey met each one of his thrusts, his breathing deep as he mumbled swears under his breath, clenching his fists. And then Ian was suddenly moving a lot faster, his thrusts harder, causing Mickey to gasp and throw his head back. It was strange to Ian how doing certain things to a guy as he would do to a girl did completely different things. It was interesting.

 _Wow_ , Ian thought to himself as he fucked Mickey. It felt so good. And Mickey was making some amazing noises. Ian’s knuckles were white with how hard he was gripping Mickey’s hips as he was thrusting as quickly and as hard as he could in to the boy in front of him, leaning his head against Mickey’s back as he came deep in to him. And then as quickly as that he was pulling out and turning Mickey around to kiss the boy hard, his hands moving all over his body.

“Fuck me, Gallagher,” Mickey gasped out when he and Ian pulled apart.

“I think I just did!” Ian exclaimed, laughing sharply and loudly at himself.

Mickey rolled his eyes, “You’re not wrong there; and a pretty good job ya’ did, too, by the way.”

 Ian shrugged his shoulders before going to pull his clothes back on and heading out of the changing rooms to find that it was only seven forty.

 _Time for a quick run_ , Ian thought to himself.

“Hey, where you headin’ to?” Mickey asked, emerging from the changing rooms a moment later.

“Run before breakfast,” Ian replied, about to head up to the gym.

“Come with me, I’ll show ya’ a better place to run,” Mickey said, jerking his head in the direction of the doors for Ian to follow him.

*** * ***

As Mickey walked out of the gym with Ian in tow, he had to take a moment to remind himself that he and the boy following him had just had sex. Ian Gallagher had just fucked him up the ass hard, and it had been fucking amazing. As he let that small fact set in, he began to traipse towards the edge of the enclosure (that made it sound like a zoo, but there wasn’t really anything else to call it). It was surrounded by trees and flowers, with the most amazing scents being let out as their legs brushed against certain plants.

The pair started off at a gentle jog, but Ian suddenly looked to Mickey with a fire as bright as his hair burning behind his eyes as he sprinted away from Mickey, calling behind him “Race you to our room!”

The older boy looked after the redhead who was rapidly disappearing, and for a moment contemplated chasing after him, but then he realised that he wasn’t a distance sprinter. A grin spread across his lips as he stopped and turned back towards the hospital, smiling to himself at the sound of ‘our room’.

Mickey lay on Ian’s bed with a hand behind his head and the copy of _Great Expectations_ Ian had checked out from the library in his other hand, his eyes scanning the words (he was already halfway through, and actually quite enjoying this Dickens guy, if only because his name had the word dick in it).

“Jeez, took your time, slowcoach,” Mickey commented when he saw Ian walking in to their room in his periphery. He finished the page he was on and dog-eared it before putting it under Ian’s pillow, looking up to see Ian red-faced and bent double catching his breath. Mickey liked to see Ian’s breathing laboured and ragged, but for other reasons. Nonetheless, Ian still looked delicious as he was. Standing up, Mickey made his way to Ian, putting a hand on Ian’s cheek when he’d stood up and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, saying that he was going for a shower.

Mickey was alone in the cubicle for all of two minutes before the redhead he roomed with was shoving his way in to the cubicle and smashing his lips on to Mickey’s, his hands clutching at his naked body. As Ian’s nails began to rake up his back, Mickey let his hands go to Ian’s chest, letting his fingers run over the ridges of Ian’s perfectly-moulded body as his lips were devoured by Ian’s. The kiss was all tongue and teeth, nails piercing in to flesh as water still pounded down above them. A guttural growl was emitted from low in Mickey’s throat as he felt Ian’s lips drag themselves away from his mouth and on to his neck, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin as his hands on Mickey’s back pulled them closer together.

Between the friction of their cocks rubbing together and Ian’s hands clenching on his back, Mickey let out a long moan when Ian bit in to the flesh over his collar bone. As Ian continued to suck and bite at the skin, Mickey felt Ian inserting a finger in to him. It wasn’t long as he was still more than stretched from taking Ian’s well-endowed self not an hour ago. Mickey was rocking against Ian’s fingers, biting his lip hard as Ian’s teeth were still attached to his collar bone. It probably should have hurt, and was more than likely drawing blood, but Mickey had better things to think about. Ian was suddenly pulling away from Mickey’s front before bending him over and slamming in to him none too gently. Mickey was biting his lip hard to stop from screaming out in pleasure as Ian was fucking him to the point of seeing flashing lights. And when Ian began to pump his cock as well, it wasn’t long before Mickey was coming, feeling Ian’s teeth on his shoulder this time as he rode out his orgasm with Ian.

Mickey just fell back against Ian’s wet body for a moment before mumbling out “Jeez, head and two fucks in less than two hours…”

“I know, it’s great, right?” Ian replied, still sounding buzzed, before he stepped away from Mickey to quickly shower the smell of sweat and sex from his skin.

Nodding lightly, Mickey asked “So, what’s with you bein’ so teethsy this time? Not that I’m complainin’.”

“You’re mine,” Ian answered flippantly as he stepped out of the shower and left to get ready for the day.

*** * ***

Free time later that day found Mickey sitting alone in their room, James and Jared meeting up with Henry at the gym. He wondered where Ian was, but figured he was probably just busy somewhere else. And so he dosed away on his bed, his hands behind propped lazily over his chest.

When he woke up, he was still alone. He also needed to pee, so he got up and traipsed in the direction of the bathroom. And what he heard was definitely two people going at it.

“D’you mind fuckin’ a little more quiet? I’m tryna’ piss in peace here!” Mickey called out, hearing a slight scuffling in the cubicle. They were still going though, he could tell by the banging against the door. Rolling his eyes as he tucked himself back in to his boxers and pants. And then he heard something even worse than just hearing a couple of guys having sex, he heard the recognisable noise that was Ian coming. “Gallagher?” There was definitely a bumping noise coming from the cubicle, but no reply.

An emptiness began to fill Mickey as he slowly wandered back to his room, climbing up on his bunk and pulling his knees up to his chest. In that moment, he didn’t know what to think or what to feel. Less than twelve hours ago he and Ian had been fucking, and now he was with someone else. Was… was he not good enough for Ian? Was he ever going to mention it to Mickey if he hadn’t recognised that it was him in there? Questions just began circling Mickey’s brain as he felt himself retreating in to himself more and more. And the questions went from a quiet hum to a pounding, ringing squealing noise that echoed throughout the entirety of his body as his clenched fists in the sheets were the only thing keeping him where he was. And he needed to feel something. Jesus, _anything_. But he refused to. He refused to do anything because of the stupid fucking ginger kid. He wasn’t some fucking girl who let guys determine how he felt about himself. Which was definitely like a piece of shit in that moment. Without realising, Mickey let his hand rest over the fresh bandages he had gotten put on his wrists that morning after his and Ian’s shower, him thumb pressing hard on where the healing cut lay beneath the bandages and gauze. The pressure, much like his previously clenched fists, made him feel grounded. It also made him scrunch his eyes shut and hiss sharply through his teeth at the initial surge of pain. He could feel the knots in his stomach coming undone slightly, loosening as his thumb twisted against the scratchy fabric of the bandages. He then moved on to the other wrist, ignoring the blood that was coming through the bandages on his other wrist.

*** * ***

“Hey,” Ian mumbled as he slumped on to his bed, noticing Mickey sitting up on his own bed. He tried to keep his voice as calm as he could. When he got no response, he poked his head up, now noticing that Mickey’s eyes were closed. Jabbing a hand in to the older boy’s thigh, trying to get his attention, he said “Don’t be a little bitch, Mickey,” as he stood up from his bed. “Mickey?!” His eyes went to the blood on Mickey’s bandages. They looked as though they were wrought with blood.

Standing on the edge of his bed, Ian was shaking Mickey as he called out his name, worry rushing through him.

“Gallagher?” Mickey mumbled blearily as he eyes flickered open.

“Mickey!” Ian exclaimed, squeezing Mickey’s hand tightly.

Pulling his hand from Ian’s harshly, Mickey mumbled out a “Fuck you,” before climbing down from his bed slowly and heading out of the room. Ian followed after him, where they ended up at the clinic, Mickey asking for his stitches to be checked as he had tripped and his wrists had taken most of the impact. Dawn didn’t question Mickey and just did as he asked, making him take some painkillers before allowing him to leave (he insisted that he was fine).

Mickey didn’t speak to Ian that evening, didn’t even look at him in all of his attempts to speak to him. This, of course, angered Ian, and he ended up going to the gym to alleviate his anger and stress on the punch bag upstairs, returning with bruised and bloody knuckles, which Mickey noticed but didn’t comment on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my lovelies, I hope you enjoyed that. Let me know what you thought if you want.  
> Follow my Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume - blah, blah, blah.  
> Stay peachy!


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ian woke up, he felt like… well, to put it lightly, a big, steaming pile of horse crap. He was tired, it was too bright, the sandwich at the foot of his bed stank and made him feel sick, and his arms felt heavy and numb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm sorry about the last chapter. Well, I'm not, but I'm sorry that it displeased some of you.  
> As several people pointed out yes Ian has been taking his medication, but it has had to be altered a couple of times, and it generally takes two to six weeks to fully take an effect. Ian has only been there for a fortnight roughly, so he will still suffer the symptoms of his illness. This is why Ian fucked the random dude in the stalls (I imagine him to be a tall, blond American football player type): hypersexuality during a manic phase. Mickey wasn't available. This guy was. For Ian, it was as simple as that. So, yes, Ian was not being a complete dick to Mickey, simply suffering the effects of his illness in a more destructive manner towards others as well as himself, as opposed to previous times when the effects have mostly been towards Ian.

Ian woke up still as buzzed as ever. His morning was very similar to the previous one. He ran, swam, and then went to wake Mickey.

“Fuck off, Ian!” Mickey hissed, turning his back to Ian as he pulled his bed sheets higher around himself.

“Mick, don’t be a little bitch with me,” Ian exclaimed, poking the older boy’s butt gently. He flinched farther away from Ian, almost falling from the edge of the bed with the ferocity of his movement. And so then Ian stood on the edge of his own bed and slipped his hand underneath the sheets, letting his hand slip in to Mickey’s boxers and towards his now-growing cock.

Turning over quickly and harshly, Mickey pushed at Ian’s chest viciously, making the redhead fall back and land on the floor with an audible _thud_ as he yelled “Get the fuck away from me!” Ian looked up to him with hurt in his eyes, and was met with only anger and hatred.

“Mickey…” he said, sitting up gently and putting a hand to his now-throbbing head. He felt a wetness in his hair, and brought his hand back down to see his fingers stained with blood.

“I said fuck off. Just keep away from me,” Mickey called down, not looking at Ian as he stuffed himself back under his sheets. Ian looked up to Mickey for a moment, not noticing James and Jared were now awake and looking between the pair in confusion.

Ian stood up and looked at Mickey once more before leaving for the gym once again. As he made his way there, he felt his fists clenching, his knuckles white and still bruised and battered from the night before. But that didn’t bother him. Ian was soon back and standing before the punch bag that had been his enemy last night. Now, Ian punched with a purpose. With such anger fuelling his movements that he was pretty sure he dislocated a finger at one point (he just as easily popped it back in to place and carried on as though he weren’t fazed in the slightest), but he just kept on punching, seeing the one face that he wanted to hurt the most. The fucker who he envisioned on the leather of the punch bag had the reddest hair and the palest skin. He had a stupid smudge of freckles across his nose and a ridiculously blue pair of eyes that just stared back at him pathetically. The more he punched, the more he hated the face. The angrier he got. And the more he felt his head begin to pound in time with each punch.

When Ian finally managed to stop himself, he looked down to see his hands were redder than his usual pallor. He sighed, sent one last hard punch in to the punch bag that sent it swinging, and then walked towards the bathroom. He felt like his blood was pumping round his body in overdrive, like the water in a flume, moving so fast it splashed all over the place and wanted to escape. It felt like his blood was boiling and was ready to burst from within his veins. In the bathroom he splashed cool water on his face, hoping to cool down. But then he saw that stupid fucking asshole’s face in the mirror and just lost it. Ian saw red as his fists went flying in to the mirror. At that moment, Ian knew that Mickey would have told him that he was like ‘ _Fifty Fuckin’ Shades of Red or some shit,_ ’ and then that thought just made Ian punch harder.

When the red smoke began to disperse and eventually become a faint pink mist, Ian blinked hard and scrubbed at his eyes. Fuck. He had been crying. He sighed angrily before grabbing a shard of the broken mirror and tucking it in to his pocket. When he chanced a glance at the mirror, he was lucky enough to not be able to see himself through the cracks of the mirror or the blood that smeared the remnants.

Returning to his room, Ian shrugged out of his clothes (holding the piece of broken mirror tight), and collected some fresh ones and his bits to go for a shower. He ignored the fact that their room was empty, that there was still a little of his blood on the floor, that his copy of _Great Expectations_ was poking out from underneath his pillow. He just made his way to the shower and turned on the steaming water, hoping to wash away some of the anger and disgust that filled his body.

After a shower with a comfortable stinging on his knuckles, Ian made his way to back to his room, seeing Mickey and James talking in there. He felt anxious as he went to put his things in his drawer before putting a hand in his pocket and clutching at the piece of the mirror. He listened to James mumble out an excuse about feeling a little backed up from eating his breakfast too fast before dashing from the room quickly.

“Mick-” Ian began.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey said quietly, not looking to see Ian, to see the mess that he looked at the moment. He wanted to, inside he wanted to turn around and grab the ginger fucker and kiss him like he’d never been kissed, but Mickey couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

“I just want to talk to you,” Ian mumbled. Mickey was quiet. Ian thought he was thinking about talking to him, but then he felt a fist connect with his face. Ian jerked back as he felt Mickey’s fist split his lip and lead to what would later be a painful bruise.

“You didn’t seem too fuckin’ eager to talk when you were fuckin’ some random dude in the toilets,” Mickey hissed before he sent another fist at Ian’s face. Luckily Ian saw this one coming, and he blocked Mickey’s punch before grabbing at the older boy’s wrists to stop him from hitting out again. “ _Jesus!_ ” Mickey tried to pull his hands back, but only caused himself more pain, underestimating Ian’s strength. “Get the fuck off me!”

“Then fucking talk to me!” Ian hissed, loosening his grip ever so slightly. It was enough that Mickey could snatch his hands out of Ian’s grip. “I don’t get what your problem is. Like, it was just a quick fuck, it didn’t mean anything,” Ian reasoned, already seeing Mickey’s disbelieving look. And then he began to laugh.

“You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me, right? You only fuckin’ fucked a dude for your first time that mornin’, and then you were off fuckin’ some other guy. How the fuck d’you think that makes me fuckin’ feel?!” Mickey threw his hands up in the air, “You were the first guy I let fuck me since Jake. I don’t let any old fuckin’ guy shove it up my ass,” Mickey sighed, running a hand through his hair “I don’t think you understand how much of a fuckin’ piece of shit you made me feel like! I fuckin’ let you in and you took the fuckin’ piss outta’ that. Just get the fuck outta’ my life…” Mickey trailed off, turning away from Ian.

Ian was shocked for a moment. And then he said “That’s how you feel, huh?” He laughed quietly, almost manically. He then pulled the piece of the mirror from his pocket and dragged it down the length of his arm hard, feeling the blood that had felt as though it had needed to escape from his body finally being able to do so. He then moved to his right arm, feeling the euphoric release. “Is this fucking good enough?” Ian asked quietly, looking to Mickey as the blood gushed down his arms. And then he laughed as tears began to mist his eyes.

*** * ***

When Ian spoke, Mickey didn’t reply, he just shook his head. But then Ian spoke again, and the question was a little weirder. What did he mean? Curiosity got the better of him, and Mickey turned to see Ian dropping something to the floor. It clattered loudly, but Mickey couldn’t hear it over the beating of his heart in his throat when he saw the blood that dripped to the floor from the tips of Ian’s fingers. In that moment, Mickey didn’t know what to do. He froze for a moment before turning back to Ian, clearing the space between them in a short moment and gripping Ian’s arms, making the feeblest attempt to stop the blood as he shouted at Ian. “Ian! Ian, you fuckin’ prick! What the fuck? You stupid…” He trailed off as he pulled a sheet from James’ bed, bunching it up against Ian’s forearms hard as he screamed out for help.

Ian laughed quietly as Mickey looked down at him with tears in his eyes and told him how much of a fucking prick he was. How he couldn’t just fuck off like he didn’t matter. And then Ian wasn’t laughing any more as Mickey ran alongside the monitor who carried the redhead down to the clinic. He was still swearing his truths at Ian, telling him that this made him even more of a cunt than fucking that guy did, and that Ian would have a lot of fucking shit to make up for.

Once in the clinic, Ian was placed on the nearest bed for the nurse to work on him until the on-call doctor arrived. Mickey was at a loss as to what he should do, and so all he could do was clutch at the redhead’s hand like it was a lifeline while the tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Mickey, you need to let go,” June (another nurse), told him, trying to get in to where he was standing. When he didn’t move or respond, June asked the monitor to move Mickey. Of course, Mickey tried not to let go of Ian, but he wasn’t able to fight the monitor who was removing his hand from Ian’s and carrying him away from the bed.

*** * ***

When Ian woke up, he felt like… well, to put it lightly, a big, steaming pile of horse crap. He was tired, it was too bright, the sandwich at the foot of his bed stank and made him feel sick, and his arms felt heavy and numb. He rubbed his eyes as he looked around to find himself in the clinic. _Fuck_ , he thought as he realised this. This situation felt all too familiar. It was like _déjà vu_ after his last manic phase. Between the combination of morphine, tranquilisers, and lithium, Ian felt like he may as well be a coma patient. He looked down at himself, seeing bandages from his wrists to his elbows. Once again, _fuck_. And then he saw the empty chair beside his bed. He knew that that should have been Mickey’s chair. But Mickey wasn’t here. Because Ian had fucked up. Literally. And now it was kicking him in the ass. One of his only friends in this place now didn’t want to know if he was dead or alive. At this thought, a small part of him felt as though he didn’t care whether he was dead or not either.

Ian looked around in search of a clock, eventually finding out that it was nearly three in the morning. He found Gail sitting at her desk, a mug in her hand as she clicked about on her computer.

“Hello?” Ian finally found the courage to whisper-shout.

Gail looked up, not knowing who had spoken, and then found Ian waving gingerly at her. She made her way over to him, saying softly “Hello, sweetie. How are you feeling?”

“Numb. Tired. How ‘bout you?” He replied, shrugging his shoulders.

Gail smiled at him bashfully as she said “Oh, I’m good, thank you. Now, do you remember what happened?”

Ian thought for a moment before nodding his head, “I think so. I… I was talking to Mickey. He was angry. And he told me to get out of his life. And… I think I tried to.” He rubbed a hand up the back of his neck, which currently felt sweaty. “I’m… guessing I didn’t succeed. I… I didn’t know what to do. He was so angry with me. I… was angry with myself. I just wanted to make him happy. I wanted to feel like I was making him happy. I… wow…” Ian sighed, “I sound fucking crazy.”

Gail put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring look, “Yes, from what Mickey told us, that’s correct. The poor boy feels really guilty about how he was with you. But you cut in to your arms really deep – you had to have a transfusion. We suspect it was from the desensitisation and numbness which you were experiencing from what we believe to be a manic episode. Is that correct? We can only infer from what Mickey has told us and what we can see.” She paused momentarily. “And no, you sound like someone who was confused.”

Ian very slowly nodded his head. It probably did make sense. He wasn’t sleeping much, couldn’t remember his last meal, and just felt buzzed. Not coke buzzed, like an entirely different kind of buzz. He couldn’t explain it. But if he was being completely honest with himself, he couldn’t explain much of his illness. “Mickey was here?”

Smiling, Gail told Ian “Yes, the poor boy couldn’t stay away. He’s in here on some medication to calm him down and help him sleep. He was so worried about you, he was having anxiety attacks. He was really scared for you, sweetie.” Gail offered him a cup of water, which he eagerly drank, before she then asked him to sit up so she could check his chest. “What happened to your head?” She asked with a look of confusion.

“What?” Ian didn’t know what she was on about. His head was fine, maybe a little sore, but he’d fucking slashed his arms open this morning, what could you expect?

“There’s blood on your pillow. Lean your head down so I can take a look, please,” she instructed before prodding about at his head, fingering through his hair to find a small gash on the back of his head which had slowly been weeping blood throughout the day.

Ian put a hand to his head before he remembered earlier that morning when he had tried to wake Mickey. “I was standing on my bed to speak to Mickey on top, slipped and hit my head,” he lied, not wanting to get Mickey in any trouble.

“Okay, well, I’m just going to have to clean that and put a dressing over it. We’ve altered your medication again, and we’ve arranged for Tanya to come and see you tomorrow morning in your usual slot for an assessment.” Gail got to work with treating his head and getting him a fresh pillow before asking if he needed anything else. He didn’t. She said she would be at her desk, and that he should try and get some more sleep. He watched as the dark-haired woman stalked back to her desk, her hands twiddling the pen between her fingers.

Ian sat forward, looking around for Mickey in the beds surrounding him. He found the tufts of dark hair two beds down from his, and that put a slight easing feeling in his stomach. He laid back in the bed, laying on his side to face Mickey’s bed. He must have watched Mickey for over an hour before he finally dozed off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets better, I promise. Please don't hate me. Follow my Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume - for updates, spoilers, etcetera.  
> Stay peachy, lovelies!


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I feel okay. Fucking stupid for what I did yesterday, but okay. I don’t feel low, I don’t feel high, I just feel… normal. Jesus, fuck, I just want to feel normal again. I want these fucking pills to start working, I want to feel like I’m not a ticking time bomb, like I’m not something to be coddled.  
> I just want to be Ian again.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just to clarify for any of you who were unsure, Ian is not suicidal. He was having a manic episode and acting in a more lucid manner whilst he was also full of self-hatred for how he hurt Mickey. So it was kind of self-destructive, but irrationally trying to please mickey out of confusion. That's a poor explanation, but did it kind of come across as that? That was what I was going for, lovelies. I hope that cleared up any confusion if there was some.  
> Anyways, enjoy!

The next time Ian woke up it wasn’t as comfortable. He felt as though he had had a piano dropped on the top half of his body. He brought a hand up to his face, and felt the swelling on his jaw and cheek. And then he saw the reminder of the episode of mania that had occurred for the past couple of days.

When Ian looked to the bed Mickey had been sleeping in, he was met by an empty, freshly-made bed. He exhaled softly, turning over to pour himself a glass of water. At the foot of his bed, letting out slight snores, Ian saw Mickey’s messy head of dark hair dozing gently on the space where Ian’s feet weren’t (he had pulled himself in to the foetal position during his sleep), and the water was forgotten.

“Mickey?” Ian said softly, his voice once again hoarse and no more than a withered croak. He nudged Mickey’s head with one of his feet under the white sheet, but he had to nudge his foot against Mickey’s head a few times before the older boy was actually roused from his slumber, letting out a light moan as his head popped up. Ian laughed at the small trail of drool that was crusted at the corner of Mickey’s mouth.

“Ian?” Mickey mumbled with a voice full of sleep, looking up to the younger boy in disbelief. “Jesus, I was so fuckin’ worried about you, you asshole. I mean, what the fuck is wrong with you? You coulda’ fuckin’ died! You… you coulda’ left me… like Jake did…” Mickey trailed off. As he had spoken he had moved towards Ian and was holding one hand as his other cupped Ian’s face, his thumb moving gently across Ian’s swollen cheek. Tears pooled in Mickey’s eyes as he said “Fuckin’ shithead,” before leaning down to press a kiss to Ian’s forehead.

Ian didn’t know what to do as Mickey’s tears fell in his hair, his grip on Ian’s hand and cheek tighter. He pushed Mickey away from himself, telling him “You’re kind of hurting my cheek. Fuck knows what I did, but it kills,” Ian mumbled, giving Mickey’s hand a gentle squeeze.

Mickey pulled his chair closer to Ian as he said “I… I fuckin’ hit you. I’m sorry. I can’t deal… I’m real fuckin’ sorry, man,” Mickey mumbled, not looking Ian in the eye as the shame began to appear across Mickey’s features.

Shaking his head gently, Ian replied “I probably deserved it, it’s fine.” He cleared his throat in discomfort, “I’m sorry about, umm, that guy. I… I know it’s shitty to use it as an excuse, and it kind of doesn’t even excuse it, but…” Ian ran a hand through his hair, feeling guilt coarse through his body as he spoke, “I get real horny when I, umm, when I’m-”

“Hypersexuality,” Mickey said quietly, cutting Ian off. “I know – knew. But… I didn’t care. I mean, you coulda’ done somethin’ with me. It just… it felt like a betrayal, ya’ know?” A few dark strands of hair fell in to Mickey’s face as he shook his head. He brushed the hair out of his face dismissively as he continued, “Ya’ know what I’m like, I take shit personal like, part of my shitty self ya’ gotta’ get used to… that is… if you, uh, still wanna’ see how shit goes with us… I mean, if you don’t I totally get it, man, but…” he stopped speaking, his expression showing his unease as he rubbed a hand up the back of his neck, “I like you. And, yeah, I’m a dick who took you nearly fuckin’ killin’ yourself to realise that…” Mickey was now openly crying as he let his head fall in to Ian’s lap.

“Mickey,” Ian whispered, stroking his fingers through his hair, “I… I still want to… try shit out with you, I mean. I like you, too. I guess I just need my meds to kick in a little, maybe then I won’t be such a fucking let-down. I’m sorry, Mickey. I’m really sorry.”

Sighing, Mickey just squeezed Ian’s hand and looked up to him, sending him a watery smile. “You ain’t a fuckin’ let-down, you’re just a bit of an ass. But I guess you’re _my_ ass,”

At this, Ian laughed hard, grinning at Mickey as he said “I think _you’re_ mine!”

“Jesus, Ian, we’re in the clinic,” Mickey laughed, his eyes shining as he watched the redhead in the bed laughing along with him.

“Stop staring, you look a little creepy,” Ian pointed out when he noticed Mickey’s eyes focused on him. And, Jesus, if Mickey didn’t have some of the bluest, brightest eyes that Ian had ever seen.

“I am a little creepy,” Mickey said earnestly, shrugging his shoulders. And then he was almost snorting with laughter when he couldn’t be serious. “Nah, but serious, though, there’s a whole lot of creepy as fuck in my genes, just a heads up,” he laughed a little before thumbing his lip lightly.

“Whatcha’ thinking?” Ian asked, leaning forward and watching the older boy curiously.

Mickey shook his head, “Nothin’,” he said dismissively.

*** * ***

“No, come on, you did the thing – the lip thing – and that’s your thinking thing,” Ian protested, jabbing Mickey in the arm playfully.

Letting his fingers fidget in his lap, Mickey’s eyes darted between Ian and his fingers. “It’s nothin’, like I said, it’s just…” He cleared his throat uncomfortably, “you’re fuckin’ hot, like, gorgeous hot… even with a bruise like that,” Mickey admitted, his eyes now trained on the redhead whose cheeks were now beginning to glow a rosy pink. And if he didn’t look adorable as fuck. Leaning forward, Mickey caught Ian’s lips in a brief kiss, rubbing his thumb along Ian’s bruised jaw. Mickey laughed gently when Ian commented on the pain he felt in his split lip.

“Got a fucking swing on you,” Ian pointed out, frowning up at Mickey playfully.

Mickey laughed with an uncomfortable undertone, “I told ya’, creepy blood. The swing runs in the family. Me, Mandy, my brothers, we all know how to fight.”

“Brothers? I didn’t know there were more of you.”

“Yeah, four brothers. We, uh, we ain’t that close, though. They’re older than me and Mandy, and between skippin’ loan sharks and bouncin’ back and forth outta’ jail, we don’t really see a lot of ‘em. Usually, it’s just Mandy, me, and the old man back at the house.” Mickey explained, running a hand through his hair in exhaustion. “Ain’t gonna’ be the same when I’m out, though. Gonna’ get Mandy and me outta’ that house when I can, get us somewhere safe.” Mickey stopped himself there. He had already said more than he had intended to, and that was a dangerous game where Terry Milkovich was concerned.

“Does he hurt Mandy?” Ian enquired, worry crossing his battered features.

Mickey shrugged his shoulders, “He doesn’t hit her. I… I think he… ya’ know, does shit to her. I ain’t sure, she doesn’t say shit, but… she acts kinda’ weird when certain things are brought up around him, ya’ know?” Mickey didn’t know what it was about Ian, but he just made him spurt information about his life when asked. It was like this young redhead just captivated him in to a sense of security, like his familiarity brought back the memories of Jake and how he felt with him. And so maybe Mickey was slightly biased in how trusting he was of Ian. He wasn’t really sure. Around Ian, he wasn’t really sure of anything, though.

Ian and Jake weren’t the same. Obviously, they were visually similar – hence the initial attraction and desire – but Mickey could point out so many differences between the two. They both had a warmness in them, though, and it was a warmness and comfort that Mickey had always sought out in life after growing up with Terry Milkovich as a parent. Ian… he had a slight vulnerability – maybe it was because of his illness, Mickey didn’t know – but it was one that Mickey could most certainly identify with, and it was one that made Mickey feel like he would do anything for the kid. And then there was the fact that Ian was hardened (hell, the guy came from the south side), whilst Jake had always had a softness to him, like he couldn’t kill a fly if he had wanted to. There was so much more to both Ian and Jake, and Mickey could spend hours defining the two and their individualities, but right now his focus was on the living of the pair. The one who was only just living, but living nonetheless.

When Tanya came by, she looked to Ian with what could only be described as confusion. She sat down beside Ian’s bed, smiling at him softly; “How are you, Ian?”

Mickey could see Ian’s embarrassment, how ashamed he felt by how he fingered the bed sheets, pinching and twisting the white fabric between his worrying fingers. “Okay,” Ian replied, not looking up from his hands.

Tanya gave Mickey a brief look and then nodded her head when she noticed Mickey place a hand on Ian’s arm and send him a reassuring look. “Explain it to me, Ian. Explain it to me as best as you can, please,” Tanya prompted gently, her expression as warm and comforting as her voice.

Mickey sat with his hand comforting Ian’s busy ones as he tried to explain to Tanya what had happened, why it had happened, and how they were going to work to avoid such episodes. They started out by trying to identify some of the indicators of Ian experiencing an episode of mania, during which Mickey was quiet until Ian asked him if there was anything else he had noticed that Ian hadn’t mentioned. He shook his head gently and sent Ian a soft smile, half-grunting out a ‘no’. After that, Ian was talked through his medication alterations and asked to talk about how he felt that day.

After the session ran ten minutes late, Tanya said that Ian would spend the rest of the day in the clinic and be reassessed during their session tomorrow to see how stable he was and whether he needed to be put in to solitary or not. Tanya said that so long as his emotions were stable, that might not be necessary as his actions were due to the mania, but it would be dependent upon his actions and emotions.

Nodding at what Tanya said, Ian bade her farewell before Dawn came over to them. She had seen that Ian was very clearly okay that morning and enjoying talking with Mickey, so she had not interrupted to do her observations. Dawn was very much of the belief that what Ian needed, much like Mickey, was someone with whom he felt grounded, and when she could very clearly see two people who more than did that for each other, she would not intervene unless someone’s health was at risk. And, so, when Mickey left to go to the bathroom, she made her way over to Ian’s bed, sending him a soft smile and saying “Don’t get me wrong, you and Mickey are both lovely – well, Mickey not always – but I don’t like to say ‘it’s nice to see you again’ when I work as a nurse,” and that made the red-haired boy in the bed chuckle lightly. She laughed with him for a moment before saying “So, how are you feeling? You seem to be more than cheery,” she commented, her eyes briefly flitting to the seat which Mickey had occupied not minutes ago.

“Yeah, he seems to have that effect,” Ian mumbled, his ears and cheeks heating up slightly.

A small smile graced Dawn’s soft lips as she had to do her observations on Ian, telling him that Mickey would be able to do his therapy task in the clinic with Ian, but he would have to leave after lunch to go to his group therapy session, and then his individual therapy session during his free period. Noticing Ian’s face drop slightly, Dawn said “Well, if you play it safe and well, I might be able to arrange for Mickey to stay in the clinic again tonight. Gail’s working, and I’m sure she won’t mind. She saw how worried about you he was last night. She’d probably agree with me that it’s better for the lad’s sanity if he stays up here,” the last part she said made Ian laugh to himself.

He smiled his thanks at her, but didn’t think that she was going to see it until he felt her prodding about in his hair, looking at the gash on his head from being pushed by Mickey. “Thanks,” he said softly, flinching a little when he felt her fingers press around the wound.

*** * ***

_I feel okay. Fucking stupid for what I did yesterday, but okay. I don’t feel low, I don’t feel high, I just feel… normal. Jesus, fuck, I just want to feel normal again. I want these fucking pills to start working, I want to feel like I’m not a ticking time bomb, like I’m not something to be coddled._

_I just want to be Ian again._

_I want to be the Ian who Debbie could make pancakes with while talking about boys, who Liam could finger-paint with, who Carl could play football with, who Lip could light up with and just talk about nothing for hours, who Fiona could actually trust to take care of the kids. Not being the Ian that Fiona could look to for help or guidance sucks. Because I know when I go back I’ll never be that Ian again. I’ll be Monica 2.0, and that just makes me want to stay in this place all the more._

_I’m scared of how I’ll be when I go home. If they treat me like that, I don’t think I’ll be able to cope, don’t think I’ll be able to just act like everything’s fine. And that is honestly terrifying. And of course I won’t be with Mickey. He won’t be able to help me, I’ll just be forgotten in his eyes sooner or later._

_I’m not Jake…_

Ian snapped his ‘diary’ shut when he noticed Mickey was finished with his therapy task, and sent the older boy a swift smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow my Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume - for updates, spoilers, etcetera.  
> Stay peachy, lovelies!


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I do. I really like him, Pez. I mean, like, I could see myself lovin’ Ian. You know there ain’t been no one since Jake. But… I think I need to educate myself on bipolar even more. I wanna’ know everything about it, what could happen, so that I kinda’ know what’s expected and what’s just Ian bein’ a dick of a boyfriend.” Mickey explained, his voice light as he thought about being with Ian when he got out, well, when he was able to get away from Terry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I can't apologise enough for my being M.I.A., but I'll try. I've had a load of uni assessments all at the same time, my mental health has turned to poo, and I'm also amidst trying to find a house with my other half, so I'm a big ball of stress. But, excuses aside, I have scrounged this from my mind for you all as a Christmas present. I can't promise regular updates - in fact, I can promise the complete opposite more than I can that. But I do promise that when it comes to me, I'll give it to you as soon as I can.  
> Once again, super duper sorry, but enjoy!

Ian took Mickey being at his group therapy as an opportunity for a nap, not feeling too great. But that didn’t happen. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt like there was a fire that was creeping up his arms, licking its way across his skin and reminding him that he couldn’t just hide from what had happened. He couldn’t just go to sleep and wake up the next day and act like nothing had happened, because it had, and he realised that he would have to remember that, because there would always be a reminder of its occurrence. In plain sight. Right there for the world to see. For him to see. For _anyone_ to see. Any of his family could see. That hurt to think of, that Carl or Lip could see that he hadn’t coped just when he went to get changed. Fiona could see when she went for a run with him. Liam could see when he took him in the pool. Debbie could see when he had to take his jacket off because the heat from the hob was too hot when they made their pancakes. Anyone could see, and that weighed heavily on Ian’s mind.

Thoughts like this had not crossed Ian’s mind – regardless of the conversation he had had with Mickey here less than a week ago. When Dawn had come over to change his dressings and check on his stitches. Taking the bandages off had stung a little, but the gauze was even worse as it was stuck down with dried blood. Dawn had seen the pain on his face, as had Mickey, and allowed him to take the gauze off himself. He tried to tease the fabric away from his skin gently, but found it quite painful. And so, with a burst of bravery (or madness, he wasn’t sure), he pulled at the gauze that covered the length of him forearm like a Band-Aid.

Mickey physically flinched, shying away slightly as he saw the look that crossed Ian’s face and heard the scream that he bit his lip to muffle. That scream had tried hard to escape, but Ian’s cheeks simply puffed out with it instead.

As his eyes watered ever so slightly, Ian exhaled long and loud, trying not to be fazed by the pain that bolted up his arm. And when the pain had subsided slightly, Ian looked down at his arm to see the jagged cut that ran from his wrist to his elbow shy of an inch or so at either end. The cut was being held together by a lot of stitches, which wept blood from his Band-Aid escapade, and he could see that it was not going to leave a pretty scar. The skin surrounding the split in his flesh was an angry red, with crimson patches staining it where the dried blood had been pulled away with the gauze.

Ian didn’t look when he removed the gauze from his right arm, he just stared at his feet blankly. After the fresh dressing had been put on, Ian had simply laid down and stared at the floor, not looking at Mickey for the fifteen minutes he was there before he had to leave to attend his individual therapy session. He felt a light kiss being brushed against his forehead before he saw Mickey leaving the clinic, occasionally looking back over his shoulder to check that Ian was okay.

He wasn’t.

Since then he had just laid in silence, trying and failing to sleep.

*** * ***

As Mickey sat in his chair within the circle, he felt his hands constantly knotting themselves with one another or wringing in to his lap. His left foot bounced rapidly against the polished floor, showing his anxiety.

When it came to Mickey’s turn to speak, he cleared his throat, bounced his foot even faster than he had been before, and then cleared his throat once more. “Umm, it’s, uh, it’s… been a bit shitty.  Obviously I wasn’t here yesterday, and that was because I… I made my… my boyfriend almost kill himself…” Mickey cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair as he stared at his feet, not wanting to see the judging looks he would most likely be receiving from the group.

“Can you explain the situation a little better to us, Mickey? Do you feel comfortable doing that?” The session leader asked breaking the painfully thick atmosphere.

Nervously pulling at the sleeve of his sweatshirt, Mickey continued to speak “He’s… he’s bipolar, and he was having a manic. I kind of… suspected by how he was acting Monday… and then I found him fuckin’ somebody else. And I knew that, um, hypersexuality was a part of it, but I didn’t seem to care about that. I ignored him for the rest of the day, and then yesterday he tried to talk to me about it, and I told him how he made me feel, and then I…” Mickey’s picking at his sleeve had slowly moved to scratching underneath the edges of his bandages, “I was so angry about how he didn’t think it was important or nothin’ that I told him that I wanted him to just get outta’ my life. And… he tried to… right then. He just… cut the fuck outta’ his arms right in front of me. I still feel like his blood is on my clothes, on my skin. It’s fuckin’… it’s fuckin’ disgustin’. I feel like a piece o’ shit.” Mickey was scratching very close to his stitches, his fingers subconsciously having nudged the bandages looser, “I mean, this guy is just… he’s so amazin’, and he’s hot as fuck, and… he’s so out of my league, but he’s perfect, and I honestly don’t know how I coulda’ told him to get outta’ my life, I don’t think I could live without him. I don’t know what I woulda’ done if he hadn’t pulled through.” A few silent tears had slipped down Mickey’s cheeks, and he noticed them when he choked out a small sob. He swiped away the tears quickly before clearing his throat.

“Thank you for sharing, Mickey,” the leader said softly, sending him a reassuring smile. He didn’t see it, though, he was staring at his feet as he continued to itch. “If you’d like, I can contact your therapist and ask him to have an extra session with you if you need it.” She didn’t receive an answer from Mickey before another voice spoke up.

“Have you guys made up?” A small voice asked from the opposite side of the circle. It belonged to a slim, blond boy with thick-rimmed glasses.

Mickey nodded his head slightly, not looking up.

“So you forgave him for fucking some other dude? Like, even when you guys are together? Jesus, if my girl slept with someone else, I don’t think I could ever look at her again. That’s risky shit, Mick,” a boy with a buzz-cut said from a few seats away.

“It’s part of his fuckin’ illness,” Mickey defended through gritted teeth, looking towards the guy.

“But, like, how can you trust him again? I mean, he’s done it once and he could do it again. Bipolars don’t just fucking stop like that,” the burly boy snapped his fingers for emphasis, “their pills just soften it a little bit. They’re still an emotional train wreck.”

Mickey’s eyes were full of fire as he growled “You don’t know fuckin’ shit about him!”

“Don’t fucking need to. He cheated on you. I don’t think highly of cheaters.”

Standing up, Mickey walked towards him, leaning daringly close as he muttered “It doesn’t matter what the fuck you think of him, you’re not the one whose dick he wants in his mouth.” Mickey was seething.

“And neither are you. Clearly.”

That did it for Mickey, he was throwing the burly boy out of his chair, straddling him almost as he began to throw punch after punch in to his face. Even as he began to draw blood from the boy’s face, he still did not hear the leader’s constant pleas to stop. Mickey was thrown back by the burly boy beneath, and his head made contact with the floor hard. Luckily, Micky was a Milkovich, and their heads were made of some pretty hard stuff, so he was not fazed by this. As quick as anything, Mickey was throwing punches back at the guy after his opponent had been able to get in a few lucky shots, and then he was being pulled back and carried away by a monitor. He struggled in the man’s grip, kicking and throwing his arms about, but apparently a strong one had him, and he was unable to escape. The large man carried Mickey out of the room and was then taking him in to the staff lift, where he was taken to solitary. He was told he would be let out for dinner.

Mickey found himself in one of the familiar rooms which held a miniscule window, single bed, toilet, and wash basin. It felt very much like a prison cell, the sorts of which he was also familiar with (juvie, technically, but he assumed they didn’t vary extensively).

Initially, Mickey found himself sending punches at the metal door that kept him in the room. He needed to be with Ian. But that apparently wasn’t an option. Needless to say, Mickey was pretty fucked off right then. And so when Perry entered the room, he received a mouthful from Mickey which he was only half-expecting.

“I need to get out! Ian’s in there! And I think there’s something wrong! He was all quiet. I was gonna’ see how he was between sessions, but now I can’t because these fuckwads have locked me up in here!” Mickey shouted the last part as he sent a hoofing kick in to the door, causing a loud, rattling bang to echo for a moment.

“Mickey, you know I can’t discuss with you when you shout,” Perry said calmly, writing something on his clipboard. “Please, can you sit down, or calm down at the very least, and start from the beginning.”

Mickey ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, growling in frustration before he threw himself to the floor, his back against the wall, knees up, and his elbows resting on them. He put his head in his hands as he began to explain to Perry what had happened between Ian and himself, how he had acted, and how Ian had reacted. Mickey paused for a moment and looked up when Perry asked what had happened to get him in here.

“Some guy was dickin’ off about Ian,” Mickey explained, “saying I shouldn’t’ve forgiven ‘im, shouldn’t trust ‘im again. Guy was just bein’ a jerk, didn’t seem to fuckin’ understand that it’s part of Ian’s illness. I can’t hold that against ‘im, right? I mean, I’m not bein’ a complete fuck-up by trustin’ ‘im again, am I? I mean, at first, I didn’t wanna’, but that was me looking at Ian as though he did it for the fuck of it not ‘cause of his illness. I ain’t bein’ stupid, am I, Pez?”

“I think you’re being really understanding, and I think that’s good of you. It’s progress, you know. I know that, much like before, you were still very defensive at first, but you realised.” Perry cleared his throat gently, “The most difficult thing for you is going to be to have to remind yourself that Ian will act out of sorts, and he may not always give you the reassurance that your illness demands, but… I think you’re strong enough to still remind yourself that Ian is your boyfriend, and still wants you at the end of the day, and he still cares about you.” Perry gave Mickey a reassuring smile as he watched Mickey thumb his lip worryingly. “I understand, it is difficult, but once Ian’s medication settles and Tanya helps him in identifying indicators of episodes, I think you will both help each other very much. I, of course, will keep in touch with Tanya so we are able to monitor your relationship in terms of how you affect each other, but I think that you’ll both complement each other when you become accustomed to one other. You have to remember that Ian has only been here for a little over a week, and you still have a lot of getting to know each other if you want to make a real go of it. Do you?” Perry looked up to Mickey curiously, fingering his black moustache lightly as he sat.

“I do. I really like him, Pez. I mean, like, I could see myself lovin’ Ian. You know there ain’t been no one since Jake. But… I think I need to educate myself on bipolar even more. I wanna’ know everything about it, what could happen, so that I kinda’ know what’s expected and what’s just Ian bein’ a dick of a boyfriend.” Mickey explained, his voice light as he thought about being with Ian when he got out, well, when he was able to get away from Terry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you loved it and have been able to forgive me. Let me know what you thought if you want.  
> Updates and spoilers and shit on my Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume.  
> Stay peachy, lovelies, and have an awesome holiday period!


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian thought that maybe he had accepted his illness when he first spoke with Tanya, but now he realised that the acceptance had finally come with the realisation that he was like many others, that he wasn’t black or white, but part of a rainbow of people who all worked in ways different and at the same time similar to him.  
> The rainbow was made up of rain and sun, and that was what Ian and most of these people were made up of, days where they were sunnier than summer itself, days where they were rainier than a monsoon, and days where they were comfortably overcast. Days where the sun cracked through between the clouds and let a warm glow grace the day whilst still maintaining the security of the shade that the clouds offered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, what's this, only a month wait? What a shocker. So, yes, lovelies, my exams finished on Tuesday, and I finally got a chance to write something (in the two days off I have between starting uni again and working all weekend), so here ya' go!  
> Enjoy, my precious little flowers

When Mickey was finally able to see Ian, he found him lying on his side, his arms hanging over the side of the bed limply. “I’m real sorry, I got put in to solitary over some bullshit that happened in my group.” Mickey explained as he sat on the edge of Ian’s bed and cupped Ian’s bruised jaw gently. “How you feelin’?”

“Okay,” Ian grumbled, looking up to Mickey, “I just feel a little shitty. Like, I realised something earlier. I fucked up. I fucked up and now I have to remember every single day that I fucked up. It’s not like if you burn dinner and you can just cook it again, I’m gonna’ be stuck with these fuck ugly scars, and everyone’s gonna’ be able to see them.” He looked up to the older boy sadly.

With his hand still holding Ian’s jaw, Mickey rubbed his thumb across his cheek as he spoke. He could see Ian’s eyes were glassy and sad whilst they stared up at him. A part of Mickey didn’t know what to say. What did you say to that? _No, nobody’s gonna’ be able to see those big, obvious scars that are in plain sight at all_?

“I know. And I’m real fuckin’ sorry that I made you feel like you had to do that to yourself, and I don’t think I’m ever gonna’ be able to forgive myself for that, but I’m gonna’ try so hard to make it up to you. I’m gonna’ show you how important you are, how much you mean to me, and how much I l-” Mickey cut himself off before the damage was done – “…how much I care about you.” Clearing his throat, Mickey brought a hand up to brush it through Ian’s hair gently, “I’m going to start by askin’ if you think this way of thinkin’ might cause you to go in to a depressive episode?”

Mickey received a shrug of the shoulders and a mumbled “I dunno’, I don’t really understand this shit,” in response.

“Well, what d’you feel like doin’?”

Another shrug, “Nothing much.”

*** * ***

“Okay, I’ll be back in a minute,” Mickey told Ian as he stood up to go and talk to Dawn before her shift finished. He explained to her that he thought Ian might be at risk of going in to a depressive state; that he had some crappy thoughts, and he didn’t seem like his chatty self. When she commented on the fact that he had been quiet, dismissive even, when she had checked in on him for observations and with his dinner, the pair agreed that they thought it might happen. Tanya was called down (she was due to leave in fifteen minutes, so they were lucky), to talk to him and see if he needed his medication altering.

After a chat with Ian, which once again made Tanya late, though this time to going home, Ian’s therapist confirmed Mickey and Dawn’s thoughts that Ian was in the early stages of a depressive episode. Dawn said that it was Mickey who had noticed first, and Tanya commended him on this, saying that he seemed to be good for Ian.

“Well, the first clue was that the kid hardly spoke – usually you can’t fuckin’ get him to shut up,” Mickey laughed in response to Tanya’s first comment. To the second, he shrugged his shoulders and mumbled to himself about putting Ian in there. He didn’t realise, though, that his mumble was audible to the others, and Tanya pointed out that how Mickey had acted was not unreasonable, and that Ian was simply not in the right state of mind when he had responded irrationally to Mickey’s comments. That made him feel a little better. Not much, but a little. “Thanks,” he half-smiled at the woman, attempting to show his appreciation.

When he joined Ian, he sat with him to help him do his therapy task which Tanya had given him, asking him to do it now with Mickey’s help whilst it was fresh in his mind. She had told Mickey that she wanted him to help Ian comprise a list in his notebook of some of what he thought where the indicators of a depressive state, to help him identify on his own when he might need his medication altering. Ian handed Mickey the book and a pen, saying his arms were a little sore so he didn’t feel like writing, and the older boy agreed to write.

When he opened the book, he went to the first clean page, seeing his name scribbled on the page next to it. Before he knew what he was doing, he was reading the section with his name mentioned in it.

‘ _And of course I won’t be with Mickey. He won’t be able to help me, I’ll just be forgotten in his eyes sooner or later._

 _I’m not Jake…_ ’

Mickey sighed as he read the scribbles. He put the book down for a minute and leant closer to Ian, pressing their lips together as he mumbled, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to see it, but… I don’t want you to be like Jake, you’re completely different people, and that’s what I like about you.” The shocked expression at Mickey’s snooping was replaced by a small half-smile as Ian nodded his head gently, pushing himself up on his arms to press a small kiss to the dark-haired boy’s lips.

Mickey squeezed Ian’s hand gently before opening Ian’s notebook to the back page this time (thinking it would be better for Ian’s privacy, but it would also allow them to add to it whilst Ian still did his other tasks). In his messy block capitals, he wrote a heading at the top of the page: ‘ _DEPRESSION INDICATORS,_ ’ asking Ian what he thought some of them were; how he was feeling now.

“I’m kinda’ tired,” Ian mumbled, “but that could just be from the tranqs and shit…?”

Mikey shrugged his shoulders, “I’m gonna’ put it, you were all active and stuff in the manic.” Ian nodded his head and then the pair sat listing out the things about Ian that were different from usual.

  1. _TIRED_
  2. _QUIET_
  3. _NOT HUNGRY_
  4. _NO MOTIVATION_
  5. _FEELING SHITTY ABOUT SELF_
  6. _HARD TO SLEEP_



“That’s fucked up,” Mickey pointed out after the last point. “I mean, you’re fuckin’ tired as shit, but… you can’t sleep. It’s just cruel.” The only response Mickey got was a simple shrug of the shoulders before Ian laid himself down, reaching a hand out towards Mickey. When Mickey moved closer to Ian, he let their fingers lightly tangle together, squeezing Ian’s hand reassuringly as the younger boy just looked up at him blearily.

“Why don’t you see if you can catch a couple hours? I’ll still be here,” Mickey encouraged, smiling softly at Ian.

“Come and lay down with me, I might sleep better with you,” Ian said softly, looking up to Mickey with eyes that he couldn’t say no to. He would say yes to anything those beautiful, blue eyes asked him to do. He would kill for those eyes if it kept Ian happy and safe. He would swim across oceans if they asked it of him.

And so, without verbally answering, Mickey walked round behind Ian and toed his shoes off before laying down beside him on his side, laying an arm over his stomach and rubbing his thumb gently in a comforting manner. He felt Ian press in to his touch gently. It took Ian a while to drop off, he simply traced patters over Mickey’s hand absentmindedly or held his hand, but Mickey finally felt him fall to sleep when his hand fell flat against the bed, moving limply away from Mickey’s.

Although he felt he probably could have, Mickey didn’t sleep, he kept an eye on Ian as he continued to hold him close, letting his thoughts wander aimlessly to pass the time. He thought about how Ian had felt he needed to compare himself to Jake, and that he thought Mickey would just drop him like a piece of trash when they were out of this place. Mickey had already thought that he would leave this place when Ian did. If he didn’t, he figured he would only be worse if he wasn’t able to see Ian, smell him, touch him, taste him – _feel him_. He wanted to be with Ian. The beautiful boy was just so perfect, and he made Mickey feel things that many people in the past hadn’t even touched on, and he definitely wasn’t thinking about how amazingly simple it had been for Ian to send Mickey spiralling in to his orgasm with the persistent brushing against his prostate.

Mickey’s thoughts were disturbed by Ian fidgeting in his sleep, his eyes scrunched hard. Mickey made small, soothing sounds as he began to run a hand through Ian’s hair and over his forehead. For a moment, he thought Ian would wake up, but then his fidgeting slowed and his eyes were now more relaxed as his breathing evened out. Mickey let out a sigh of relief.

*** * ***

Ian woke up at a stupid time to wake up he decided. It was four thirty in the morning. Too early to wake, but too late to go back to sleep, not that that was an option with how Ian had awoken. He had woken up with a jolt, his body lunging from the bed, and had hit the floor with a thump. Somehow, though, Mickey was still sleeping, Ian’s bump and yelp not having woken him. Not too sure what had woken him up, Ian sat up, rubbing his head slightly before standing up and climbing back in to the bed, looking at Mickey as he slept. For an hour Ian did this, but then Mickey began to mumble a little and move. Ian quickly grabbed at his shirt before the dark-haired boy could make the same mistake as Ian and end up on the floor.

“Hey,” Mickey mumbled, looking down to Ian’s hand gripping his shirt in confusion.

Ian shrugged before explaining that he didn’t want Mickey to end up falling off of the bed like he had. When Mickey began to laugh, Ian frowned at him and punched him playfully, “It’s not funny, it hurt,” Ian grumbled out.

“And in comparison to this?” Mickey asked, lifting one of Ian’s bandaged arms up.

Ian scoffed, “Okay, yeah… maybe it didn’t hurt _that_ much…” He laughed lightly as Mickey put a finger over his lips, only just seeing the clock and the time of morning.  Ian watched as Mickey then climbed out of bed and put his shoes on, going in to the cupboard besides Ian’s bed where there were some fresh clothes for him. Quickly changing out of the ‘butt-flap gown,’ as Mickey called it, and pulling on his clothes to follow Mickey out of the clinic quietly.

When Gail looked up to see the pair, she gave them a questioning look. “Goin’ for a mornin’ run – exercise is a good way to try and kick the depression and shit,” Mickey explained as he then pulled Ian out of the clinic, their fingers gently linked as they went along the lowly-lit corridors.

Once they were out of the building, Mickey walked them towards the grass where Mickey had sucked Ian off, and they sat down, the dew-covered grass making their clothes damp, leaving darker shades of grey on their trousers.

“Ya’ know what,” Mickey said after a moment of silence, the pair simply sitting beside one another, watching as the sun pulled itself higher in to the sky.

Ian looked to Mickey with raised eyebrows, humming in question.

“I really fuckin’ like you. Like, even though you’re completely mental and a bit of a talker, you’re pretty fuckin’ decent, and you’re not half bad in the looks department,” he laughed slightly uncomfortably, smiling at Ian as he grinned towards him.

Nodding gently, Ian replied, “You too. To all of that.” Ian received a slight nudge to his shoulder before Mickey was leaning towards him and pressing a quiet kiss to the bottom of his jaw, quickly recoiling and acting like he had done nothing.

*** * ***

That day, Ian attended group. He was only allowed after asking Gail, saying that he wanted to get better, that he _needed_ to get better.

“I don’t want to be in here again for something like this, but I can only try my best to make sure of that if I can get back in to the therapy,” Ian pleaded, looking to Gail with such a seriousness in his eyes that she knew he was telling the truth.

She said she would make a call to Kurtis. And it was only a short while before she was saying that that would be okay, but only if Ian was escorted to and from the session by a monitor, and that he return to the clinic for his meeting with Tanya afterwards.

“Okay. Thank you,” Ian’s voice was soft but grateful as he sent her a warm smile and made his way back over to Mickey. “She spoke to Kurtis and they said I can go.”

On their way down to their group sessions, Mickey and Ian were closely followed by a monitor whom Ian had not met yet. “I… I think I might call Lip tonight,” Ian said pensively, not necessarily addressing Mickey directly, bit hoping that he heard.

“Really? That’s awesome,” Mickey told him as he reached between them to squeeze Ian’s arm gently. And then they were soon outside of room four, and Mickey pulled Ian to himself, placing a kiss on his forehead as he said “Be good in there,” with a wink, and left for his own session.

Throughout the session which Ian recalled being quite dull and uninteresting, Ian now found himself actively interacting with others in the group. He was able to identify with those who were suffering down periods or manic episodes, and he smirked to himself when he realised halfway through that the session wasn’t as black and white as he had told Mickey after his first experience. The group was not simply full of people who were either on crack or painfully depressed, but instead homed those who were suffering from varying stages of mania or depression, who were at their highest highs, lowest lows, and everywhere in between. Ian found himself feeling like he was in that in between point, like he was almost normal again. There was a very small sadness in him which occasionally niggled at him, but that could just as easily be like the one which was experienced by most south side children who grew up neglected and constantly battling the world for survival and acceptance.

Yes, to Ian, this feeling was definitely normal.

And this normalness was accompanied by a sense of belonging when he shared his current experiences, why he had been absent the days before, why he now had stitches in his arms which made him cringe, but also why he felt like he had accomplished something. Ian thought that maybe he had accepted his illness when he first spoke with Tanya, but now he realised that the acceptance had finally come with the realisation that he was like many others, that he wasn’t black or white, but part of a rainbow of people who all worked in ways different and at the same time similar to him.

The rainbow was made up of rain and sun, and that was what Ian and most of these people were made up of, days where they were sunnier than summer itself, days where they were rainier than a monsoon, and days where they were comfortably overcast. Days where the sun cracked through between the clouds and let a warm glow grace the day whilst still maintaining the security of the shade that the clouds offered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per, hit me up on my Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume - for spoilers, updates, and all that shit.  
> Much love! Stay fab!


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re, umm, we’re not really… I don’t… we… aren’t,” Ian stammered out after a moment, snatching his arm from Jared. Mickey withdrew his hand, turning back to his notebook, not commenting on the conversation any further as he tried to string out his task for as long as he could.  
> Mickey tried his hardest not to show Ian that his comment had bothered him, but it unearthed a lot of doubt which Mickey frequently tried not to acknowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have emerged after many a drama and a load of uninteresting personal palarva, so apologies for the delay. Anyway, here is a chapter which has been sat in my drafts folder due for editing and more literary... stuff. So, I don't know how good it'll be, but I'm sure you'll all be polite and humour me if you're still keeping up with the story.  
> Ciao, petals, enjoy!

When it came to his meeting with Tanya, Ian felt optimistic – even having to be escorted by a monitor didn’t dampen his mood. He couldn’t understand it, but he felt lighter now that he had finally accepted himself. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t feel alone, that having people who were just like he was made him feel a little more comfortable in his own skin.

“You seem well, Ian,” Tanya commented with a smile as she sat down in the chair beside Ian’s bed.

“I feel it.” Ian then went on to explain the epiphany he had had in his group therapy session.

“That’s brilliant,” Tanya said when Ian finished. She handed him one of the sheets which he regularly filled out in their normal sessions, asking him to complete it for her as she sat back to sift through a few pages of notes.

Ian circled zero. He thought it was strange that being someone who could have outrageous highs or lows meant that a good day was a zero. Personally, he saw a day that was a zero as an awful day. Zero was always bad. A zero was a fail on a test, an empty bank account, no time left. The only optimistic thing that Ian could see in a zero was the microwave dinging and food being ready. Looking at these sheets, though, Ian always had to remind himself that there was a negative end of the scale, too. Much like a thermometer, Ian’s mood did not have a true zero.

_Good. Happy._

_Call Lip tonight._

After writing his answers down, Ian smiled to himself. He was a little excited about speaking to his brother. To Ian, Lip was his best friend. Lip was the person Ian could talk to about anything and anyone, and he was the person that Ian trusted the most. Whilst Lip’s intelligence exceeded Ian’s, Lip never spoke to Ian like he was a lesser person. And he had always supported Ian. At the end of the day, Ian went to Lip when he had a problem, whatever the problem, because Lip would always be honest with him and try his best to help.

“How is it going with yourself and Mister Milkovich?” Tanya asked Ian when he handed her the sheet back, glancing at his answers.

Ian wasn’t really sure what to say. “Umm, good. We’re doing good. I still don’t really know what we are. But we’re good,” Ian was able to stumble out an answer eventually.

“And does that bother you?”

A quick shake of the head and then Ian was responding more confidently this time, “No. I didn’t even know I really liked guys until I met Mickey. Still don’t know if I do or if it’s just him. But… I don’t mind… not having a label for us, I mean, it means there’s less pressure. You know, to do certain things or act in certain ways,” he concluded with a small, genuine smile. Tanya noted this.

After a few moments of silence, in which Tanya observed Ian’s behaviour (he was hunching ever so slightly, like he had something to hide, something he was ashamed of – she knew what it was. He stared down at the floor, he didn’t look at her or anything else – he was anxious, he felt uncomfortable. And he picked absentmindedly at a frayed thread on his pants – he was distracted), Ian finally spoke up, not looking away from the floor.

“Are you going to put me in solitary?” His voice was quieter now, less confident.

“Are you going to do anything damaging again?” Tanya countered, her tone challenging but her expression cautious yet firm. When he shook his head, she replied, “Well, no, then, I’m not, but we will have to have another monitor on your level outside of your room for the next week, who will also follow you from a distance, just until your meds have finally levelled out.” Another nod from Ian, this one made him a little sadder. “Okay, well, June is going to check your arms and change your dressings, and then you’ll be able to go.”

A slight pause let Ian’s unease linger in the air before he spoke up. “How do I arrange to call Lip? I… want to talk to him.” Though as he spoke, Ian felt his voice betrayed him, said that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk to his older brother now. The news of essentially having a babysitter who kept close made Ian want to just stay in his room and do nothing. He didn’t want to do anything personal. He didn’t want to speak to his brother, he didn’t want to do anything with Mickey, he didn’t even want to try and take a dump. However, it wasn’t that it depressed him – well, not much – it just made him feel like there would be no privacy in his life for the next week.

“If you go up to Kurtis’ office, he’ll sort you out with a calling card and explain how it works. Usually, after a situation like this, calls aren’t allowed, but I’ll write a note for you to give to Kurtis to let him know that I think it will be good for you, okay?” Tanya explained, smiling at him before she put her head down to write out said note.

Still not quite sure now, Ian nodded his head, mumbling out a small “Thank you,” accepting the note as she handed it to him. Ian was then told that his therapy task would be to make a list off all of the things that made him happy, and all of the things that calmed him down. After saying no to Tanya asking if there was anything else he wanted to talk about, his therapist left, sending June over to him.

Once June had checked his stitches, she cleaned them before putting on some fresh dressings. Ian had been smart this time and hadn’t looked as she had done it, instead focusing on the pattern of the tiles on the floor, following the zigzag of the tiles with his eyes. A monitor then came to meet him, introducing himself as Gary.

Ian had grunted out a ‘hi’ and followed Gary out of the room, having just enough time to make it to the communal hall on Willow to complete his task. With his sleeves pulled down and gripped tightly in his hands, Ian collected his notebook (Tanya had told him that it had been collected from his room during a search after the incident), before spotting Mickey with Jared and James, and made his way towards them, slotting in to place beside his dark-haired friend.

Greetings and ‘how are you’s were thrown his way before Mickey looked up and said “Shaft over there is yours I take it,” jerking his head towards Gary who stood at the edge of the hall with Ian in sight.

Glumly, Ian nodded his head and explained “Yeah, they gave me a fucking babysitter for the next week, so I doubt I can even shit in peace.”

Trying to lighten the mood, Jared put in “Well, Mick, you’re either gonna’ have to become accustomed to exhibitionism, or you’ll be having private wanks in the shower next to Ian,” grinning as the boy in question rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the rising heat up his neck.

A monitor (not Gary), gave their table a harsh look before shushing them, which, of course, only caused them to chuckle quietly among themselves. When their mumblings and jokes in attempt to try and cheer Ian up came to a close, Ian finally looked down to his notebook, opening it to the last activity he had done.

He had done it with Mickey, his indicators of a depressive stage. Looking at them, he now wondered how he wasn’t able to notice when he was in a depressive episode, it was so obviously unlike Ian to act as those indicators described.

“Hey, Mickey,” Ian whispered, causing the boy beside him to look away from his own notebook, where Ian just noticed that he was sketching something, and asked “what am I like when I’m manic?” He decided that he would make another list so he could try and keep an eye, wanting to be able to stay on top of his medication.

“Umm,” Mickey thought for a moment, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth before he thumbed at his lower lip pensively. “You never fuckin’ shut up,” he began, but was interrupted by James.

“Up before the crack of dawn. I can’t understand how, but somehow you are,” he whisper-shouted at Ian, giving him a cheeky wink and a thumbs up to show his playfulness.

Within a moment, Ian’s head was down and he was writing a new list as his roommates told him how he had acted during manic phases in their experience, his writing looking a lot neater than Mickey’s harsh, block capitals on the page beside the one he was now writing on.

_Manic Indicators:_

  1. _Talking more than usual_
  2. _Waking up really early_
  3. _Feeling buzzed/full of energy_
  4. _~~Horny~~ Hypersexual_



(Mickey saw what Ian began to write for number four and had given him the correct terminology, saying they weren’t exactly the same if he was right.)

  1. _Exercising more than usual_
  2. _Irrational ways of thinking/acting_



Not being fully aware that he was doing so, Ian tugged down his sweatshirt sleeves more, gripping the cuffs in his hands after he had written the last one.

*** * ***

As Ian wrote out his sixth bullet point, Mickey noticed Ian subconsciously attempt to cover up his last time of thinking and acting irrationally. He placed a hand over Ian’s, giving him a reassuring smile, which was soon mirrored by their other two roommates. He felt Ian’s tense hand relax ever so slightly, and gave his hand a short squeeze.

“Is this what Tanya asked you to do then?” Mickey asked, trying to distract Ian from his thoughts.

He looked up at Mickey, “Huh? Oh, no, something about shit that makes me happy or calms me, not really sure why,” he mumbled out in response.

“Happy shit for when you’re feeling depressed and calming stuff for when you’re manic,” Jared explained with a shrug of his shoulders. “Sorry, Psych student,” was his answer to the questioning looks he received. “I’m guessing it’ll be a minor coping technique for if your meds aren’t fully stabilising you. Of course, mentality and all that can only do so much.”

“And here I thought you were just a pretty face,” Mickey laughed, feeling Ian rumble slightly with a low laugh as his knee rested against his own.

“I’m sorry, Ian. I’m sorry I’m so irresistible that your boyfriend feels the need to hit on me while you’re sitting _right there_ ,” the lanky boy said, leaning across the table and resting a hand on his arm. Both Jared and Mickey noticed Ian flinch back slightly, but neither commented on it. Flicking some of his blond hair out of his face, Jared gave Ian a smouldering look before saying in a mock-silky voice, “It’s just… _because I’m worth it_ ,” causing the redhead to smirk as the heat crept up his neck.

“We’re, umm, we’re not really… I don’t… we… aren’t,” Ian stammered out after a moment, snatching his arm from Jared. Mickey withdrew his hand, turning back to his notebook, not commenting on the conversation any further as he tried to string out his task for as long as he could.

Mickey tried his hardest not to show Ian that his comment had bothered him, but it unearthed a lot of doubt which Mickey frequently tried not to acknowledge. Maybe Ian didn’t like him like he did, maybe he just wanted to be with Mickey for a quick fuck, and to have a few friends while he was here. Mickey didn’t know, but he couldn’t be sure of how Ian even felt about him. After their first ever encounter, Mickey couldn’t understand why Ian would even want to know him. He didn’t even want to know himself after that, but somehow Ian had managed to forgive him. Unless he hadn’t… Maybe Ian was just trying to manipulate Mickey in to hurting him and getting his own payback for what Mickey did to him.

Laying on his bed tucked under his sheets, Mickey found himself scratching at his bandages as he tried so painfully hard not to work himself up over Ian.

 _Talk to him_ , a small voice in his head told him. But a different one asked him why Ian would even want to talk to him.

“Fuckin’ fuck!” Mickey shouted out, throwing one of his pillows across the room as he hammed his fist in to his mattress and huffed out in exhaustion.

“Okay up there?” The redhead who was causing up a storm in his brain popped his head out from underneath him,

“Fuckin’ fine,” Mickey grumbled in response.

And then before he could protest, Ian was climbing up on to his bed and lying beside him, an arm draped over his stomach lazily. “Don’t lie to me. What is it?”

He didn’t know why, because he normally wouldn’t, but he told Ian exactly what was on his mind, not being able to resist the earnest look that Ian gave him. All of his doubts were explained to the boy beside him (well, explained as well as one could explain irrational thoughts), and all Ian did was pull Mickey in to his chest and hold him there.

“I just… I don’t know what’s happening with us,” Ian began, “you haven’t mentioned wanting to be anything, and I don’t want people to get the wrong idea if you don’t want that, so… yeah.” He cleared his throat lightly, running a hand through Mickey’s hair, “I do like you, I just… I’m not sure what to do, what you want, what I want, I… yeah…” Ian stammered out the last part, his hands on the dark-haired boy stopping in place.

Looking up with hopeful eyes, Mickey processed what Ian had tried to tell him, and said, “So, you _do_ wanna’ be my boyfriend then?” He felt Ian’s shoulders shrug against him as a mumbling of ‘I guess,’ slipped between them. “I don’t want ‘I guess’ or a shrug of your shoulders. I want you to be sure. You’re the first person I’ve felt serious about since Jake, so I don’t wanna' be fucked around with. You do or you don’t.” He explained firmly, looking to Ian with serious eyes.

“If I say yes – and that’s not to sound like I feel obligated or anything – what… happens? What changes?” Ian asked with curiosity masking his unease.

“Nothin’ changes. We have a title, we conform to society’s ideas of relationships, I guess. But nothin’ really changes apart from how other people address us, but it ain’t nobody’s fuckin’ business. I’ll still look at you the same, I’ll still wanna’ bang you the same, and I’ll still care about you.” He cleared his throat between them. “But if you don’t wanna’, you don’t have to. I won’t force you in to nothin’.”

Ian thought for a moment before nodding his head, “I want to. I just… can we kind of start over a little? You know, show me how to have a boyfriend, to be in a relationship with a guy for real. I’ve… I’ve only ever been with girls if you hadn’t already guessed.”

“I’m sure it could be arranged,” Mickey chuckled, saying how he would woo Ian like he had never been wooed before.


	21. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So, are you guys, like, together?” Mandy suddenly asked out of nowhere, probably noticing that Mickey's arm was reaching under the table and his hand resting on Ian’s thigh.  
> At the posing of the question, Ian felt Mickey squeeze his thigh. Mickey made no attempt to answer, obviously leaving it to Ian to decide what to say. But before he could, Lip was breaking the silence.  
> “Nah, Mands, Ian’s got a girlfriend back home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, petals! I've missed you all with your lovely comments and friendly reassurance. I'm super sorry I've been MIA for forever (five months), I've had my usual malark going down of getting a new job, and coming off my pills, and just a lot of stupid stuff, but thanks to the lovely HorrorOfTheMuse for the much-needed kick up the arse. Just to let you all know, I've not abandoned this story, far from it, I love this story way too much to do that, but I don't always get the time to write, but I promise all of you that I'll never abandon this beauty.  
> And so, without further adieu, a merry 2017 (plus one month), and a chapter for you, my lovelies!  
> Enjoy, and let me now what you think, beauties!

“Well, this is cute,” Mickey said with a grin, smiling across at his sister.

After calling Lip up as planned, Ian spoke with his eldest brother with a slow-growing ease, and they were now talking comfortably. Despite his efforts to defend his and their siblings’ actions, Ian had cut Lip off, saying that he just wanted to talk to him and not about that or anyone else. He always knew that Lip’s intentions were different from his other brothers’ and sisters’, and it was shown when Lip then fell in to a normal conversation, telling him about how he and Mandy were skipping classes to go and sneak in to the Red Sox game on Tuesday. And then they were remembering all of the games they had sneaked in to – and the ones they had tried to but been caught. The phone call was about to end on a high full of laughs when Lip suddenly up and pleaded for Ian to let him come up with Mandy that weekend, that he wouldn’t talk to any of their other siblings, wouldn’t mention anything, just that he wanted to see his favourite brother.

_Fine._

And that was how Ian found himself sitting beside Mickey, the pair of them clutching their sleeves down as they kept their hands under the table in their laps, looking across at their siblings.

Returning the classic Milkovich grin, Mandy replied “Yeah, it’s like a double date,” knocking her shoulder against Lip’s, jolting him from his staring at Ian.

“Ian, how are you?” Lip said, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

“Not talking to them or telling them anything, remember?” There was a tone of hostility lacing Ian’s voice as he stared hard at Lip, an imminent threat behind the murky green pools. He received an uncomfortable ‘no’ as Lip broke their eye contact, looking down at his hands awkwardly. “Okay.” He then said, breaking the silence only for a moment, his response inducing the same, pathetic silence. He wasn’t really sure what his ‘okay’ was in response to, Lip’s question, or him agreeing to not talking to the others. That was what made it uncomfortable. Nobody knew what to say next, because nobody knew how to interpret Ian’s answer.

“So, are you guys, like, together?” Mandy suddenly asked out of nowhere, probably noticing that Mickey's arm was reaching under the table and his hand resting on Ian’s thigh.

At the posing of the question, Ian felt Mickey squeeze his thigh. Mickey made no attempt to answer, obviously leaving it to Ian to decide what to say. But before he could, Lip was breaking the silence.

“Nah, Mands, Ian’s got a girlfriend back home. At least… she seems to think you guys are still together…” He trailed off, not sure if he should have mentioned Daya. Maybe he did it out of worry, or panic. He wasn’t sure.

“I broke it off with her when I was manic,” Ian mumbled out, picking at a piece of loose skin on his thumb.

“Yeah, she wasn’t having any of it. Once we gave her a very vague explanation of why you were in the hospital, she said she understood why you’d been so off with her, and basically gave you a clean slate.” Lip told them, looking at Ian with slight concern. “She keeps coming to the house, asking after you.”

“Well, can you tell her I don’t want it?” Ian grunted flatly, finally making eye contact with his brother. Whilst it was ‘grammatically-speaking’ a question, Ian’s tone sure as hell made sure that Lip knew it was most certainly _not_ a question, but a demand.

“Tell her yourself, man. Call her or some shit. I ain’t playing the middle man.”

“I… I don’t wanna’ talk to her,” Ian explained, “I can’t deal with her shit.”

There was a pause before Lip spoke again, this time more quietly. “Is Mands right? Is he why you don’t wanna’ talk to her?”

Ian didn’t say a word, but his silence spoke more than loud enough for him. He received a reassuring squeeze from Mickey under the table. Ever so slightly, he leant in to the simple touch.

“Ian, you… you coulda’ told me. I mean… if you knew you were gay you could’ve… I wouldn’t’ve-” Lip began, looking at Ian with a face that seemed to be projecting pity. Ian couldn’t understand that.

“I’m not.” Ian cut his brother off. “I mean, I’m not gay I don’t think. Like, I might be bi. It’s not like I didn’t like it when I was with Daya, I loved being with her, but I love being with Mickey too, you know? I never looked at a guy like that. It’s only Mickey so far.” Without realising, he had begun to squeeze his left arm under the table, feeling uncomfortable as he admitted how he felt; Ian explained as best as he could how he defined his sexuality. The honest truth was, though, that he didn’t know. He didn’t understand it himself, and trying to explain it was making him anxious. It made him feel conscious of everything, of how he acted, how he spoke, how he even breathed (which was becoming shallower and much more rapid as he thought about what he had just said).

“So… you’re not gay, but… you’re gay for my brother?” Mandy asked, looking at Ian with a curious gaze, a slight smile creeping across her lips. “What a compliment, Mick…”

His heart still hammering in his chest and his arm stinging with the pressure he was putting on it, Ian simply shrugged his shoulders harshly before standing up. His eyes were going everywhere as he mumbled out something about needing to go, and he made his way out of the hall, not once glancing back to his brother or Mickey.

*** * ***

A huge part of Mickey wanted to go after Ian, feeling as though he was being pulled towards him, but he knew that he needed the time to himself. When Mickey had first realised that he was in to guys and that girls did nothing for him, he tried extremely hard to not be in to guys, overcompensating for this newly-realised preference by sleeping with as many girls as possible, even resorting to Angie Zago. That he knew of, this was the first time that Ian had spoken about his sexuality, at least in the way of trying to understand and explain it, and he had just done it on the first almost-civil meeting between him and his brother. From what Ian had briefly mentioned, Lip was the brother Ian was closest to, and he understood how difficult it must have been for him to broach that subject with Lip. Damn, it was a subject which was more than hard enough to just discuss with your own brain! For Ian to do it when it wasn’t even on his terms must have made the experience even worse. Mickey really felt for Ian, and he wanted so badly for him to feel comfortable with himself, for him to reach that point of self-actualisation in which he would realise that his sexuality was a part of whom he was, and that it would allow him to progress better in life when he was able to accept that.

As Ian left, Mickey saw Lip stand to follow after his younger brother. He stood up, putting a hand out to stop Lip going, wanting to allow Ian his space. “Nah, at the moment you’re not what he needs,” Mickey explained. “He needs to sit down and work out all that for himself. That’s the first I’ve heard him try to understand what he is or isn’t, and with it bein’ you, it puts a lot more pressure on him.”

Lip looked offended, “What d’you mean? He’s my brother, he can talk to me about anything, he knows that.”

“He doesn’t understand it himself. Didn’t you hear how fast he said all of that, it was just a jumble of thoughts. Here it doesn’t really matter to him, everyone’s nuts anyway, so bein’ gay, or bi, or whatever ain’t that big an issue, so he ain’t had to think about it. And I mean because he looks up to you and trusts you, it makes it feel like there’s more pressure on him to be perfect in your eyes, y’know? Just trust me, there’s nothin’ else we can do until he works it out for himself and feels comfortable.”

Mandy nodded her head in agreement, placing a hand on Lip’s arm, “He’s right. He was the same when he came out to me. If I tried to speak about it, he just blocked me off until he was comfortable enough with it himself.”

Running a hand through his hair, Mickey said “Where we come from don’t make it any easier to admit you like dudes,” sighing a little.

“Err – Mick?” Mandy said, looking to her brother with seriousness filling her eyes, her tone of voice firm and icy.

“What?” He asked, not realising that his sweatshirt sleeve had slipped a little when he had brushed his hair back until he saw her line of sight. A darkness clouded his eyes as he quickly tugged his sleeves down and mumbled out a rushed “I’m fine.”

“Lip, why don’t you go outside for a smoke? I’ll be out after I’ve talked with my baby brother.” The brunet did as asked, leaving the table and hall to make his way out. “You aren’t. You tugged both sleeves. Both wrists are fucked that means.” The hurt flashed across the elder of the Milkovich siblings’ face. Mandy’s currently-purple lips were tight as she took a deep breath, staring hard at Mickey.

“Why didn’t you tell me? You could’ve called. If you were feelin’ shitty you could’ve told me.” Mandy began, clearing the silence as the concern laced her voice.

“It wasn’t… it was an accident. I didn’t mean to.” The youngest Milkovich son mumbled out, staring down at the table like a child being punished. Mickey was tripping over the words as his anxiety briefly spiked, Mandy’s disappointment being one of the few things he had wanted to avoid.

Mandy reached across the table, pulling his hands towards her and gently pushing up his sleeves. She felt him tense beneath her touch as her hands gently began to unwrap the bandages.  Ever so desperately, Mickey wanted to pull away from his sister, to not have her see his wrists as they were, but he knew that she needed to for her own reasons, to allow herself some comfort in knowing that he hadn’t tried to kill himself.

She had seen Mickey’s attempts at suicide, and she knew that Mickey wasn’t too terrible at human biology. Any important veins and arteries ran up his arms, and he was clever enough to know to cut vertically if he had any hopes of dying. Mandy knew this after he had explained it to her when she had first noticed his self-harm post-suicide attempt.

Mickey’s wrists were still pink around the cuts, but they no longer looked like the stitches were the only thing stopping the blood from erupting from beneath his skin. The stitches would probably be taken out by the end of the next week if he didn’t irritate them, but other than that, they would heal up fine and he would have two nice, big scars to condemn him. Well, make him look more like a desperate case than he already was with the previous scars.

“Mick…” Mandy said softly, unsure of what else to say. She then attempted to rewrap Mickey’s wrist, pulling his sleeve back down and holding his hand across the table.

“I just had a bad day. Ian and me were talkin’ about stuff, about us, and I kind of felt shitty about the stuff with Jake. Ian’s the first guy I’ve actually committed to since… y’know, I just… yeah.” Mickey attempted to justify his actions to his sister, blinking fast to stop the tears brimming his lids.

“The resemblance is definitely there,” she noted, “is there any reason for that?”

“Just drew me to ‘im as a plaything at first. Then he turned out to be cool.” He paused for a moment, looking up at his sister for the first time. “I think I might love ‘im, Mands,” Mickey said, a short and disbelieving laugh following the statement.

Progeny to Terry Milkovich, the king of gay-bashing, Mickey had fought mountains to be himself: to be gay and not hate himself for it. Loving anyone that wasn’t Mandy, well, that had been a battle, but loving a guy for who he was and not just the sex on tap was something that had _almost_ defeated the gay Milkovich. And now, here he was falling in love with a complicated guy who didn’t even understand his own sexuality and was just as mentally messed up as Mickey was. Up until now, Mickey’s life was an accomplishment, and by that he meant that surviving this far to be able to question if he were in love for the second time in his life was the accomplishment.

Standing up, Mandy enveloped Mickey in her arms, holding him to her chest as she whispered her response. “I understand how hard that is for you, Mick. But it’s okay for you to love again. You don’t have to feel bad about it.”

Until he felt Mandy wipe at his cheek, he hadn’t even realised that he had stopped trying to fight the tears. He simply nodded his head against her chest as he sniffed lightly.

“Thanks, Mands,” he mumbled, pulling away from her with a loud sniff as he scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands roughly. He gave her a quick hug before pointing towards the door and saying “I’m gonna’ go. Ian. See you next week, Mands.”

As Mickey left the hall quickly, he felt Mandy’s eyes on him, her worry following him down the corridors and back towards Elm like Peter Pan and his shadow.


	22. Chapter Twenty One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter what it came to, Mickey didn’t think there was a limit to what he could forgive Ian for. Ian was like a life source for Mickey – like air – and Mickey wouldn’t give it up for the world.
> 
> But what about Jake? A voice in his head whispered harshly. Mickey thought… would he give Ian up for Jake? To have him back? To have the man who loved him back, and to be able to carry on where they had left off?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much cognitive psych. So sorry. Enjoy, petals! Also, yay me for only a fortnight wait! Whoop whoop! Anyways, let me know what you think, my lovelies :)

 

Walking back towards his room, Mickey felt a heaviness settling in his gut. His wrists felt like they had a constant itch that was beneath his skin. He knew the feeling. It was one he got when people had noticed his self-harm when he had become careless with covering up evidence. It tended to happy mostly when he was happy and enjoying himself. It was like there was a small desire to do it again, but in that moment his mind lay elsewhere. Right then, his thoughts were on Ian, and how he was. When he walked back in to his room, he found James sitting beside Ian on the floor against the wall. Ian sat with his head between his knees, arms hanging over his neck as he breathed rapidly. As quick as anything, Mickey was sitting on Ian’s other side, replacing James’ hand which had been rubbing calming circles up and down his back.

“Ian, it’s me. You need to try and calm down. Please,” Mickey said soothingly as James breathed in and out deeply, trying to help Ian control his ragged breathing. “How long?” He asked James, looking over Ian’s crouched, trembling form.

He received an answer of “Maybe five? Ten max?”

Nodding his head gently, Mickey continued to rub Ian’s back as he joined James in his long, deep breaths. “Come on, Gallagher,” Mickey encouraged, squeezing Ian’s knee affectionately.

He hated to see Ian so anxious like this over something that he had hoped would just come naturally. Ian had never tried to push Mickey away, he had seemed to just take him in his stride, but now he seemed to be completely overthinking everything, to be looking at the situation they were in from every single different viewpoint. Mickey knew he had definitely done that when he had first attempted to understand himself. Of course, growing up in his household and his neighbourhood – hell, just the South Side in general – gave him such negative thoughts and ideas of how he would be perceived. His first therapist (Perry had not worked there when Mickey had initially been admitted), had believed that this enormous inner conflict within himself and the perceived negativity were part of the make-up of the trigger for his disorder. Perry, however, thought that there was a greater complexity within Mickey, and thought that Mickey’s issues were more deep-rooted. With his mother’s death (due to his father’s heavy-handedness along with his emotional abuse, but Perry didn’t know that), being such a strong memory so early on in Mickey’s life, and the lack of a stable family dynamic, Perry thought that some of the disorganisation in Mickey’s home life also accounted for some of the instability and fragility of Mickey’s mental state. Of course, Mickey’s condition worsening after Jake’s death – murder – only confirmed this theory, much to Mickey’s annoyance.

Why did that annoy Mickey? It shouldn’t have. It shouldn’t have had any effect on him. Maybe it was the fact that Mickey’s life conformed to some huge theory, like puzzle pieces just slipping in to place to show that Mickey was in fact that same as every other human being that had walked in to this place. He wasn’t special. He was predictable, normal, just a fucking statistic. In years to come, Mickey would contribute towards that world-changing, defining percentage that Professor Whats-His-Name _et al._ rant on about for forty-something boring pages of research and babbling.

To Mickey, this was his own personal life-changing experience – well, more of a catastrophe, really – that he was suffering on his, it wasn’t something that could be generalised to a disorder caused by extraneous factors or some shit like that, it was just Mickey’s life.

Mickey preferred the reason for him being the way he was to be his own fault, not the fault of those around him. Mickey wasn’t that easily influenced. No, Mickey knew how to think and make decisions for himself. That was why Mickey was now sitting beside the guy who made his heart swell with a single look, who made him smile when he said his name. He had made the choice to follow what his mind, body, and soul had wanted, and Mickey was now as happy as he had been with Jake, if not maybe a little happier. But maybe that was because Ian was like him, and Mickey didn’t feel like as much of a freak of nature with Ian as he had with Jake. Jake had never intentionally made Mickey feel like one, but when the effects of his disorder had taken their toll on their relationship, Mickey had always felt like he had needed to make it up to Jake, to earn his trust and forgiveness back. However, his and Ian’s relationship was more give and take. They both had problems, and they both had an impact on their relationship, but they knew that the other could not help it, but could forgive it because they in turn knew they could be forgiven – _would_ be forgiven.

No matter what it came to, Mickey didn’t think there was a limit to what he could forgive Ian for. Ian was like a life source for Mickey – like air – and Mickey wouldn’t give it up for the world.

 _But what about Jake?_ A voice in his head whispered harshly. Mickey thought… would he give Ian up for Jake? To have him back? To have the man who loved him back, and to be able to carry on where they had left off?

 _What does it matter?_ Another voice responded in a protective manner. This voice understood Mickey’s inner thoughts, understood that he would give anything for Jake to be alive, but that he didn’t think that he and Jake would just be able to continue as they had been before. Mickey’s feelings for Ian and his feelings for Jake differed in huge ways. With Jake, their love was a secret, and it was something that was a mutual companionship, a mutual security. In loving each other, there was a comfort of not feeling alone, of feeling normal together.

And that was love.

Mickey would never deny that their love was not real love.

But Mickey’s love for Ian was based around a need, a longing, a feeling. It had formed from the showings of vulnerabilities, from the trusts which were shared and returned, from the longing looks, and from the ability to forgive and forget. The love Mickey held for Ian was such an innocent love, it came from taking Ian under his wing and helping him to learn and grow, to understand. But then there was so much care which underlay it, such a desire to take care of one another, to maintain the innocence and pureness. The biggest difference was that the love was pure. Mickey loved Ian knowing that he was sick, knowing that his illness could be difficult and a strain at times, but Mickey just saw that as a part of Ian. He just accepted it without explanation. Of course he would struggle at times, but he would never try to change Ian. But with Jake there had been times when he had felt as though Jake was just waiting for his fuse to blow, for him to suddenly become a walking nut case. He hadn’t been that obvious, but there was always a slight unease when Mickey’s disorder was affecting him, something which he had previously just accepted, but now realised was not something desirable in a relationship.

The two loves were different. They were circumstantial. And both circumstances were born from different events in which different types of comfort were needed.

*** * ***

It had been too much. Ian had said too much, and now it was all he could think about. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t draw his mind away from it, couldn’t think about anything besides it, not even something as simple and natural as breathing. And that was how Ian found himself stumbling in to his room grasping at his throat as he felt his windpipe closing up.

And now as Mickey and James sat on either side of him, two of his new friends comforting him and trying to help him, Ian had such a longing to be at home. It reminded him of the panic attack he had had in the hospital, and how Fiona had helped him through it. He felt like he needed Fiona, needed her comfort and warmth. But then he didn’t need her condescending tones or judging look. Ian felt like he was at war with himself about so much. Did he like girls? Guys? Or both? Did he want his family or not? Did he want to be alone or did he need someone right now?

And his breathing gradually slowing down from the comfort and reassurance of his friends answered one of the questions he had.

He needed someone.

Mickey held him against his chest as his shallow breaths became gentle sobs, running his fingers through his hair as he whispered soothingly in to his ear. He spoke about anything and everything, just something to help Ian distract himself for long enough to calm down and just… be. Ian needed a moment to just exist, to be whomever he was, and to not worry.

It felt a little like regression. He was cradled in someone’s arms after he had lay crying, and was doing as instructed: not thinking and not worrying. It felt like being a baby again.

It felt safe. Secure.

 _That’s just being with Mickey, though_ , Ian thought to himself. In his mind, Mickey was synonymous with comfort, security, warmth, understanding, acceptance. Mickey was all of those things to Ian. He was all of them and so much more.

Ian definitely needed someone, and it would be Mickey every time if it were up to him.

*** * ***

Monday was a lot more relaxed (for Mickey), and found Ian and Mickey up early to head down to the clinic to get their test results. Ian was full of worry, guilt, and anxiety, and it was very evident by how he walked, how he avoided Mickey’s gaze, and how he was so quiet. Mickey noticed all of this, but he didn’t comment on it. He understood why Ian was like that, but he felt it was a very unnecessary way for Ian to act. Ian wasn’t to blame, Mickey knew that, but Ian wouldn’t listen to him. For now, he had reasoned that it was more beneficial – if only for his oxygen levels – to just keep quiet and let Ian be. As much reassurance as Mickey could give would not be enough for Ian. There was too much stubbornness to Ian, and Mickey couldn’t fight it as hard as he tried. He appreciated this trait of Ian’s almost as much as it bugged him, because he was very much like himself with the stubbornness, and it wasn’t a bad characteristic to have from Mickey’s experience.

Mandy’s stubbornness was what had finally helped push Mickey towards the help he needed. Her constant love, which she forced upon him at times, was what kept him alive, kept him from hurting himself too badly. If he was being honest, Mandy’s stubborn ways (which ran in the family), were the reason Mickey was alive and as happy as he was ever going to be. For so many reasons Mickey needed to thank his sister for being as she was.

Mickey sat beside Ian in the separate room at the back of the clinic as the nurse pulled up their results on the computer.

“So, Ian, Mickey, from what you told me, you’ve both come out seemingly unscathed with just a case of gonorrhoea. Obviously, having any STI isn’t lucky, but from what you’ve both done, a simple issue of gonorrhoea is a very light outcome.” Dawn told them once she had found their results. She gave them a soft smile; “So, we’ll just have to give you a small antibiotic injection, a single accompanying antibiotic in pill form, and that should clear you both up easily,” she concluded, turning away from the on-screen notes to look at them.

The relief on Mickey’s face was not as obvious as that on Ian’s face, but it was definitely there. Inside. Mickey was definitely happy to hear that he was not infected for life, but only for a few days.

Within fifteen minutes, June had given Ian and Mickey their injections, their pills were swallowed, and they were given a brief talk, in which they were told to abstain for a fortnight and then return to see her to check that they were all clear. The pair both nodded before they were leaving the nurse to head down for breakfast and then their pills.

As Mickey walked beside Ian, he thought about how abstaining would be easy. When he had said it to Ian, he meant that they would start over and that he would woo the socks off of him. He would essentially court Ian, treat him like a lady – gentleman – Mickey would act like a proper gentleman. Mickey wanted a proper relationship from this, and he was sure as hell going to get one. Ian was the real deal for Mickey, and that was something he was sure of, he wouldn’t let Ian slip away too easily. He would take better care of Ian than he did of Jake, and he would make sure that Ian knew how much he was loved – how much Mickey loved him

_Fuck._


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course, Tanya was honest, and did not respond in a manner Ian was accustomed to having grown up with Fiona as a mother. Instead of reassurance and confidence in Mickey, Ian received a very truthful answer which he was still struggling to understand.
> 
> “Mickey is a very changeable young man, but also very protective and territorial. Mickey will protect what he loves until the ends of the Earth, but he’ll also very easily discard what is no longer useful to him, what no longer makes him happy.” Tanya stopped for a moment, looking at Ian with a straight face, “Mickey is human, Ian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, mon petits choux-fleurs, here is another chapter for you lovely, folk. I feel like my writing mojo is back. I don't know how long it will be here for, so I'm trying to blast out as much as I can. I won't post it all in one go, because I feel liek you guys love the brief lapses between chapter (deluding myself here).
> 
> Anyways, enjoy! Feedback is my fave, keep it coming, petals. Josie x

Breakfast wasn’t really a priority of Ian’s. He was so relieved that he hadn’t ruined Mickey’s life by not wearing a condom that food was not really a thought that had crossed his mind. Nevertheless, he ate two slices of toast, just enough to line his stomach for his medication. He and Mickey traipsed towards the pill station with James and Jared, the latter following for the sake of doing so (his pre-meal pill routine had stuck). Ian noticed how Mickey’s arms swung a little more freely, how his movements were more fluid.

 _Note to self: when Mickey is happy he walks with a little more swagger_ , Ian thought to himself. He wanted to do what Mickey had done for him. He wanted to be able to know when Mickey was having a good or bad day, to be able to react accordingly to said day’s emotion. Now he would try to notice these small things more, he decided, because it wasn’t fair for their relationship to be a one-sided one in which Mickey put all of the extra effort in and made all of those small – yet highly significant – observations. Ian wanted a bigger part in this relationship – they were calling it that now, right? – because he wasn’t going to be the patient and have Mickey as his nurse all the time.

And so, Ian started to be more observant, keeping a hawk-like eye on Mickey at any time that they were together, and learnt quite a lot during that week.

The remainder of Monday was a good one for the both of them, obviously still on a slight high from receiving the news that they had not contracted HIV, or something equally as daunting. When Mickey was happy he talked more during dinner, he didn’t just shovel his food in to his mouth like he was under a timer. Instead he maintained an easy conversation with the table, discussing his plans for when he got out.

“I’m thinkin’ I’ll get a job, get a car, then get out. Ya’ know, leave Chicago, the South Side, maybe go somewhere where they don’t have bars on the windows of stores durin’ openin’ hours.” Mickey mused, popping some mashed potato in to his mouth afterwards.

Henry laughed, nodding his head as he told him “Well, where I’m from you gotta’ get buzzed in to pretty much every store. Chicago seems pretty easy-going compared to home.”

Mickey snorted a little as Ian asked if Henry had grown up in Juvie. He earnt himself a small rumble of laughter across the table and a squeeze of his leg beneath it. “Nah, I think he was raised in a barn, the buzzing was the cattle prod,” Mickey put in. The talking continued, with the topic of conversation changing every so often.

Later that evening, Ian noticed something else about Mickey when he was having a good day: he was very touchy-feely. The pair lay on Mickey’s bed after they’d both showered, both on their sides so they faced each other. As they spoke quietly about their now-official-but-starting-over-again relationship, Mickey kept a hand on some part of Ian, whether it was trailing up and down his side, or tracing his hairline, Mickey would not stop touching him. Ian wasn’t complaining, he was just noticing.

He also noticed how much more easily Mickey slept on a good day, not a trace of insomnia in sight as Mickey curled himself up against Ian’s chest, a small noise of contentment slipping from his slightly-parted lips. For Ian, it was quite a comfort to just sit and watch Mickey in contention, to drift off to his small mumblings and occasional snores. If anything, it actually made Ian sleep easier, with no worries burdening him of how he may have hurt the dark-haired boy lying beside him.

*** * ***

Ian’s Tuesday session with Tanya found him missing the start of his therapy task session as he tried to subside his tears. He hadn’t spoken with her the day before as she had been off ill. Ian didn’t totally believe it as she seemed totally fine now, but he didn’t mention it.

“So, how was your visit with your brother?”

“Umm, it ended pretty quickly with me having a panic attack…” Ian mumbled in response, not meeting Tanya’s previously-optimistic eyes. He didn’t need to look up to see her change in mood, to see the concern and confusion that had replaced her once-cheery features. Her voice was the biggest giveaway for Ian, though. It sounded like he imagined she looked, but it held a slight undertone of – disappointment, possibly? – that reinforced Ian’s reluctance to look at his therapist.

When Ian heard Tanya’s next question he paused. It was an obvious question to expect after telling someone, particularly one’s therapist, that they had had to leave early due to a panic attack. But for some reason unbeknownst to Ian, the question shocked him. It felt as though it had been thrown at him whilst his defences were down.

_Why?_

Well, it was a pretty good fucking question. Now that Ian thought about it, any way he had tried to justify it, his panic attack seemed very out of place and unnecessary. It shouldn’t matter to him what his sexuality was, it hadn’t bothered him up until then, but somehow saying it had made it seem like a big, scary concept.

After explaining this to Tanya, they then got in to a conversation, which Ian was sure was all very psychological when he looked back on it, about his relationship with Lip, and what Lip was like growing up. She had also briefly touched on Mickey, and how he and Ian were, and how Ian saw Mickey. Tanya’s theory was the idea that it only seemed as overwhelming as it had because it had been in front of Lip, someone whom Ian looked up to. Another aspect to this theory was that it was daunting because Mickey was so confident and sure of himself, that he just knew he was gay, and had accepted that, whilst Ian was full of so much anxiety and confusion over the matter that he could possibly feel like he was having to prove himself to Mickey. It was as though Ian thought Mickey needed Ian to know for sure or he might not be as attracted to him.

It was all kind of difficult to understand for Ian. However, one moment that stood out for Ian with regards to Lip and his role in Tanya’s proposed theory was that Lip hadn’t adapted well to change growing up. Upon starting at the _Kash 'N' Grab_ , Lip had gone there every day when Ian had had a shift and would try to spend as much time as possible there. When he had gotten his first girlfriend, Lip had continually tried to double-date with him and keep an eye on him. And of course the money-maker was when Monica’s infidelity had surged a questioning of _Is Frank really my dad?_ When it had been discovered that Ian was not Frank’s son, Lip had constantly tried to pursue the matter further, and would not let up in his pushing. Maybe Lip’s inability to adapt to change well – particularly when his favourite brother was involved – was another area of the pressure that had caused the panic attack.

Tanya then let Ian vent out about his sexuality and how it was stupid anyway, and he felt better for it. No surer of how he would define himself, simply surer than before that he didn’t give a fuck about it at the moment, but that that he simply cared about Mickey, and getting better. The tears came out of nowhere as Ian suddenly put them on the topic of his recovery, of returning home, and of his insecurities within his relationship and how far it stretched.

Of course, Tanya was honest, and did not respond in a manner Ian was accustomed to having grown up with Fiona as a mother. Instead of reassurance and confidence in Mickey, Ian received a very truthful answer which he was still struggling to understand.

“Mickey is a very changeable young man, but also very protective and territorial. Mickey will protect what he loves until the ends of the Earth, but he’ll also very easily discard what is no longer useful to him, what no longer makes him happy.” Tanya stopped for a moment, looking at Ian with a straight face, “Mickey is human, Ian.”

It was only when he sat down beside his friends to complete his therapy task that he thought hard about what Tanya had concluded with.

_Mickey is human._

Tanya was trying to tell Ian that Mickey’s likelihood of leaving Ian was not dependent upon anything other than the strength of their relationship and how they felt about each other. Their illnesses would be very unlikely to determine the matter, but how they handled and managed their illnesses could have an impact. Ian realised that everything else that Tanya had said was simply a prelude to the human concept, that just like anyone he would make decisions based very much on a matter of the gains and losses of the subject of the decision. Just as within any relationship, Ian just needed to fulfil some basic needs of Mickey’s, to make him feel loved, wanted, and appreciated. Obviously, that was diluting it insanely, but Ian understood Tanya’s – could he call it advice? She had simply made a statement. But Ian understood that Tanya was telling him that worrying would not help, and that in concentrating on getting well and just loving Mickey, he would have no worries.

And so that was what he did.

Ian’s therapy task was to create a self-analysis sheet for each morning. Tanya had written it down before their session, so they had not needed to discuss it at the end (which had turned out to be a good thing). When he asked his friends what they thought it meant (because while he had a rough idea, he didn’t know if it was right or not).

“I think it’s kind of just a list of questions you need to ask yourself each day,” James said, looking up and flicking his hair from his eyes.

“Yeah, so make it specific to key symptoms. Like, one question might be _Do I feel tired? Is this because of something external – ie. Illness, noisy roomies, etc.?_ So  it’s kind of like asking yourself what symptoms you do or don’t have and then working out whether you’re tilting towards a high or low,” Mickey furthered, putting his down as he spoke.

Nodding his head slowly, Ian thanked them and then went to work. He looked between his lists of symptoms of a manic or depressive episode and began to compile his self-analysis sheet.

  1. _Am I tired?_



_1(a). If yes, is this because of something external? (ie. Illness, noisy roomies)_

_1(b). If not, do I feel over-energised? Could this be the start of a manic, or just a good night’s sleep?_

  1. _Did I struggle to get out of bed?_
  2. _What’s my appetite like?_



_3(a). If it isn’t normal, is there an explanation for this? (ie. Illness, overeating/undereating the night before)_

  1. _What are my thoughts like? Do they seem irrational?_
  2. _Do I feel like having a conversation?_
  3. _Have I been taking my meds at the right times?_
  4. _How do I feel?_



_7(a). Do I know_ why _I feel like this?_

  1. _Am I being honest with myself?_



Ian looked over his list. Writing the questions was easy enough, but answering them may be a different matter each day. But Ian wouldn’t worry about that. For now, he would just focus on the tasks and challenges as they arrived.

Group therapy: that was Ian’s next task after lunch, and the discussion which circulated room four seemed to have such an intensely negative vibe that Ian could feel the depression in the air. For his own sake, Ian zoned out of the session thinking back to his family and how if there was a negativity and Vee had walked in, drinks would be handed around and the air would be lifted. He missed nights like those, where they would all have a drink, a dance, and a laugh because it was just better than dwelling on the consistent shit storm that was their life. He chuckled lightly to himself. That probably said a lot about their family and the most-likely hereditary alcoholism that they were slowly but surely on their way to developing.

“Something funny, Ian?” The group leader asked, interrupting Ian’s train of thought.

“Irony,” Ian replied, looking up to the small, blonde woman with a usually-soft smile.

“Well, share with us, then,” she prompted, nodding at Ian encouragingly.

And so he did. He was honest. He told them about Frank, and about their constant underage drinking, and about how they drank to not feel shitty. He laughed to himself again as he told them of the irony of his family’s drinking. He heard a small titter from across the room, and met the welcoming eyes of a young boy, much younger than he was, who had been sitting hunched in on himself, his arms wrapped tightly around his slightly large midriff. Ian recognised this boy as one of the many people in the room who had shared about feeling depressed.

That small glint in that boy’s eyes made Ian smile. And whilst Ian’s smile lasted longer than the boy’s, Ian knew that during a stage of depression, someone making him laugh loud enough for others to hear was a huge leap. It felt as though he had let a crack of sunshine through in to that boy’s day. It made Ian just that little bit happier himself.


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey was stronger than that, stronger than shitty fucking tears.  
> He was a fucking Milkovich.  
> Mikoviches didn’t cry; they drank, they smoked, they fought, they swore, but they sure as hell didn’t fucking cry.  
> They don’t try to commit suicide either…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gift for you, my lovelies. Enjoy! And let me know what you think, I love your comments!  
> Thanks, Josie x

When Ian was with Mickey, just lying in their room up on Mickey’s bunk, he felt a shift in Mickey’s mood from earlier. There was still an affectionate manner in how Mickey brushed gentle movements over the bandages covering Ian’s right arm (which he wouldn’t admit, but it made him tense with discomfort), but there was just a vacancy to Mickey’s voice, how he answered Ian’s questions, and how his smile was very weak and disinterested. Ian suspected this was one of Mickey’s mood swings, one of the ones he couldn’t do anything about apart from simply riding it out and trying to distract himself from it. Without even thinking, Ian spoke to Mickey, giving him the reassurance he needed when moods like this found their way in.

“I love you.”

At least, it was the reassurance he thought Mickey needed. The heavy silence that hung, the shock that was shared between them, it was a rigid tension that felt like it was pressing down on Ian’s throat made him think maybe this wasn’t what Mickey had needed. He was stock still, unsure of how to act. He couldn’t just walk away, no matter how uncomfortable he felt, nor could he take back what he had said. It seemed that he would just have to wait for Mickey to make a move, and he would then have to react to that appropriately.

Ian began to feel fear and worry flood his body, coursing throughout him like his blood. He wasn’t sure if his face had drained of the blood or become excessively filled with it. Nonetheless, he stayed as he was, just looking down in to Mickey’s hair, waiting for a reply, whatever it may be.

When he finally got a response, Ian could not have said how long he had sat in that uncomfortable silence.

Mickey’s blue eyes met Ian’s eventually, and he leant closer, pressing his lips to Ian’s in a soft kiss that said way too much. It said _‘thank you, I really needed to hear that,_ ’ ‘ _I feel exactly the same,_ ’ ‘ _it doesn’t make everything better, but it’s pretty fucking close,_ ’ ‘ _I’ve been waiting to hear you say that forever_.’ That kiss said more than Mickey could convey with words. Words were not his forte; growing up in the Milkovich household, learning your first words from drunken slurs and shouts, and skipping way too many classes at school had made sure of that. Ian understood that, and he was glad that Mickey had responded as he had done. The kiss became a little more heated after a brief parting that lasted less than a second, and hands were scrabbling through hair and gripping at locks.

“ _Do you want to fuck me as much as I want you to?_ ” Mickey gasped out in desperation, his voice showing his eagerness all as much as his hands did.

It had Ian twitching in his boxers.

“Only if you want to _not_ start over and woo me as much as I don’t want you to?” Ian replied, dragging his lips down to Mickey’s pale neck, his teeth grazing against the soft, supple skin. His hand had slipped underneath Mickey’s shirt, blunting his nails along the faint traces of abs across Mickey’s stomach, feeling a very small smattering of hair as his hand went higher, heading for the dark-haired boy’s pecs. He could hear the hesitation in Mickey’s breathing when Ian asked that, feel him stop beneath him. In that moment of doubt, Ian lunged, letting one hand gently grasp at Mickey’s right nipple, teasing and twisting in a way that Daya had once done to him (he had found it really strange, but a part of him had liked it). He let his hips grind hard against Mickey’s, feeling the friction between them taking effect as he began to suck and bite at the sweet juncture where Mickey’s neck and shoulder met.

Ian could feel Mickey’s want as his fingers pulled just a little harder at his red locks, hear it in Mickey’s soft groans and breathy exhales. And, Christ, did that do things to Ian. In an instant he had flipped them, putting Mickey atop him as his hand moved underneath his shirt to Mickey’s toned shoulders, scratching downwards and inching in to Mickey’s waistband. He could feel Mickey’s breathing all ragged against his cheek as his finger just softly pressed against Mickey’s entrance, resting there teasingly.

“I need you…” Ian sighed, “I need to feel you… feel inside of you…” He pressed his finger very gently, emitting a hiss from Mickey as he just sat at that point between being inside of Mickey and not, and he teased that spot as he continued to whisper in to Mickey’s ear, “Just need to fuck you… taste you… fill you…” he drawled as he slipped his finger out and brought it up to his lips, sucking on the tip seductively. And then he sucked the entire thing in to his mouth and let his eyes slip closed, feeling Mickey’s heart thumping against his chest. He was just able to hear Mickey mumble out an exasperated ‘ _want you_ ’ against his skin over the loud heartbeats that filled their ears.

“What, Mickey? What do you want? My fingers? My tongue? Or my dick?” Ian teased as his hand returned to its previous spot in Mickey’s boxers, letting the spit on his finger trail across Mickey’s skin, making the small hairs stand on end.

“All!” Mickey groaned as he pushed himself back on to Ian’s finger, letting out a long breath that was tangled with a guttural groan.

*** * ***

Mickey felt Ian’s tongue lick its way up the shell of his ear slowly as he thrust his middle finger in and out of him at a comfortable and very pleasurable pace. And then he all of a sudden slipped a second finger in. Mickey grunted hard against Ian at the intrusion and lack of warning, but was very soon adjusting, speeding up his rocking against Ian’s beautifully large hands, feeling himself almost coming there and then.

“Stop,” he let out slowly, his breaths falling out against Ian’s neck in short, hard patters of pleasure. “I don’t… want to ruin it… to come too soon,” he managed to get out as Ian eventually stopped, dragging out his movements in a painstakingly slow manner, crawling to a halt.

With a small chuckle, Ian bowed his head against Mickey’s shoulder, “I love to make you come first, though, Mick,” he mumbled, nipping playfully at the hickey that was already starting to form.

“Ian,” Mickey was just able to moan out with a hoarseness to his voice, allowing Ian to move him in to a laying position, positioning himself between his legs and pulling Mickey’s pants and boxers down in one, untangling Mickey’s legs from them, leaving him lying there exposed. Mickey felt like he should feel uncomfortable, like he should lower a hand to cup himself, to salvage some of his dignity. But he didn’t. Laying here with Ian as he was felt as easy as riding a bike, like something ordinary and natural. Well, as natural as one could feel almost having sex atop bunk beds in a shared bedroom.

It honestly wasn’t possible for Mickey to describe how seeing that perfect flash of red hair bobbing up and down near his groin made him feel. Probably almost as good as how he felt when two fingers wound up scissoring inside of him at the same time. It was like a bolt of lightning coursing through his body, making every muscle within him convulse in such a pleasurable manner that he had to reach down and pull Ian’s head up and towards his own, capturing his lips in a steamy kiss.

Mickey loved kissing Ian, it was like such a reassuring gesture, like Ian really wanted to be with him, to share the soft, sensual touches that were passing between their mouths.

 _I’m sure he didn’t kiss that guy in the bathroom like he kisses you_ , a snipey voice said in a tone that flowed like chocolate, but like dark, sinister chocolate. Like chocolate that was so rich in cocoa it made you want to grimace at the over-powering sensation that swamped your mouth. This chocolate was enough to shock Mickey in to a naked, motionless mess. His eyes scrunched shut hard in an almost reflex-like manner. He didn’t want Ian to see the anger and worry that crossed his eyes in a dash. A small part of him also didn’t want to see Ian.

“Get off me!” Mickey was suddenly saying as he pushed at Ian’s chest, launching himself off of his bed and quickly pulling on the mess that was his pants and boxers before leaving his room. It felt a little like the walk of shame, but it wasn’t, it was the walk of a BPD sufferer who couldn’t sort his shit out over one stupid red-head with Bipolar Disorder. Mickey’s legs took him out of Elm and down the stairs to the first floor at such a speed he was amazed that he didn’t trip and lose half of his teeth in the process. As the cries from Ian had chased him down the stairs, Mickey had picked up speed, and was ignoring questions of his speed and calls to ‘quit running’ as he made his way in to the library. And the bay window with the cushions in the farthest corner of the room was where Mickey hid himself, his legs pulled to his chest as he tried to calm his breathing, not letting the tears that brimmed his eyes fall.

Mickey was stronger than that, stronger than shitty fucking tears.

He was a fucking Milkovich.

Mikoviches didn’t cry; they drank, they smoked, they fought, they swore, but they sure as hell didn’t fucking cry.

_They don’t try to commit suicide either…_

That snide voice pushed its way back in to Mickey’s thoughts, egging him farther and farther in to a deep pit of self-loathing, sadness, and disappointment in himself.

_Milkoviches cut other people, not themselves._

_Milkoviches don’t fuck about with feelings._

_Milkoviches don’t end up in nut houses._

_Milkoviches don’t take it up the ass from other dudes._

_Milkoviches don’t fuck up as badly as you have._

Mickey’s hands were scrunched in his hair hard as he heard the malicious voice over and over again, heard its cruel words and roasting, hateful remarks.

_Facts._

The voice wasn’t wrong, who was Mickey kidding, the voice was completely honest. That nasty, bitter chocolate was more truthful than anyone had been to him in a long time. In a frenzy, Mickey swung his left arm out as he screamed at the top of his lungs, “ _Maybe I don’t wanna’ to be a fuckin’ Milkovich then!_ ”

*** * ***

When Ian finally found Mickey, it was not due to extensive searching and knowledge of the library, but from hearing the loud cry of ‘ _Maybe I don’t wanna’ be a fuckin’ Milkovich then_ ,’ that carried across the large room, and then a harsh smashing following shortly after. There were angry and confused whispers surrounding Mickey when Ian finally found himself by the dark-haired boy. His left hand white-knuckled at his hair as his right sat on the cream cushions of the bay window, staining them red as it sat in a flurry of shattered glass. As the librarian was scolding Mickey whilst radioing for a monitor, Ian simply pushed past her and hugged Mickey against his chest, holding his rigid, shaking form hard against his body. He couldn’t understand what was wrong with Mickey, but he could never fully understand the boy. Mickey was like Pandora’s Box, full of secrets and mysteries, and Ian had barely scratched the surface in his fortnight at this place. He felt Mickey feebly try to shake him off, but his attempts soon stopped as the soft, muffled sound of stifled sobs were only just audible to Ian. Ian just continued to hold Mickey close and rock him ever so slightly as he mumbled soft, reassuring words in to his hair. Honestly, he didn’t think he was actually making any sense in what he was saying, just simply muttering nonsense at Mickey, but it seemed to slow Mickey’s trembling a fraction.

Ian didn’t think he would ever know how to help Mickey, but he sure would try his damned hardest to stop the build-up of tears that every so often burst their banks, to calm the small, insecure child within. Everything inside of Ian just wanted Mickey to be happy and healthy. Even more so than he wanted himself to be.


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was still laughing as he said “Just thinking of that bit from Shrek. The bit where Shrek’s all like ‘Onions have layers! Ogres have layers!’ It just makes me think of Mickey.” Ian was quite impressed by his Shrek impression if he was being honest. He’d even puffed out his chest as he had done it.  
> Gail giggled between words as she agreed, “Yes, it does sound a lot like our dear Mister Milkovich.”  
> “I know, it’s uncanny, right down to the way he speaks,” Ian chuckled to himself, thinking of his little munchkin boyfriend. Boyfriend? Hopefully boyfriend still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Por vous, my lovelies.
> 
> Happy Mother's Day to all of you who are mummies, mummies-to-be, carers, pet owners, or just struggling with today for whatever reason. Someone loves you. And if you're reading this, I love you and appreciate your interest in this story. As per, any feedback is welcome!
> 
> Thanks, Josie x

Perry sat on James’ bed as Mickey and Ian were on the latter’s, the younger boy trying to finish off calming down the elder of the two. Mickey was lying with his head in Ian’s lap and his body pulled up in the foetal position as he allowed his maybe-still-boyfriend to run his fingers through his hair and whisper out calming noises and reassurances, attempting to soften the tremors that traversed his weak body. It was funny to think of what context laps were being used in no more than an hour ago.

Mickey could very gradually feel the blood that circulated his body at speed begin to slow back to normalcy. It had taken a good fifteen minutes for Ian to calm him enough in to leaving the library and making their way to the clinic (Perry had spoken to the librarian when he had arrived at the library with two monitors shortly after Mickey’s outburst). And now, as he clutched desperately at Ian’s hand which was not stroking his hair, he felt like he was almost calm.

Perry must have noticed this, because he cleared his throat before asking Mickey in a very level voice what his outburst had been about and what had led to its occurrence.

Tugging at his sleeve in an uneasy manner, Mickey kept his eyes focused on the fresh bandage which covered his left hand and wrist; he mumbled out slowly “My brain was an ass to me. Overthinkin’ shit, internal conflict. Shit like that.”

Mickey wasn’t very often short with Perry, and he thought Ian might pick up on this, might realise that Mickey didn’t want to say any more and make Ian feel guilty or anything. Once again, Perry was his ever-observant self, and noticed this because he didn’t push Mickey any further. No, Mickey expected that would happen in the safety of their next session.

“Okay, Mickey. Well, unfortunately we’ll be stopping your calls for this week and your sister will not be permitted to visit until Sunday, obviously behaviour permitting. Is that clear?” Perry said, looking to him with a serious expression that was still cushioned with comfort.

Nodding his head gently, Mickey let out a small hum, still not meeting Perry’s eyes. He didn’t need a reminder of how much he had failed as a Milkovich by having a good one come to visit him. No, a perfect Milkovich was all he needed at that moment.

Of course, rationality told Mickey that being a perfect Milkovich was anything but desirable; following in the most senior of the Milkoviches’ footsteps was like walking up to the electric chair willingly. In hindsight, Mickey would have punched himself in the face if he had heard himself say that about his sister.

Mandy.

Fuck, Mandy.

Mandy had probably suffered the hardest at their father’s hand. Not only had she still received the physical side of abuse (a slightly diluted version of what Mickey had gotten – huh, at least Terry acknowledged she was a girl and not a man – and very much like how he recalled their mother being treated), but Mandy had gotten mounds of emotional and sexual abuse.

It had taken a while for Mickey to fully piece everything together, but with some input from Ian and Lip in the future, he would understand how his father would repeatedly stumble home drunk and make his way in to his only daughter’s room. How he would crawl in to her bed after leaving a pile of piss- and booze-soaked clothes on the floor and begin to do things to her. And for the life of her, Mandy had suffered enough to know not to fight it. She had tried it once, and Terry had brought friends with him when Mickey had been out drunk and fighting somewhere. No more was needed to explain that scenario, only that Mandy had worn long-sleeved tops and thick sweatpants for the week that followed that summer.

But from then on, Mandy had learnt not to tell him to fuck off, or go and do himself, she had learnt not to kick out or push him. No Mandy’s bred-in survival-of-the-fittest adaptation had meant that she had learnt that having his sour, bile-inducing breath whispering ‘my sweet Debra’ in to her ear was how she would survive as the fittest (not mentally, but physically fit). This was how Mandy had already made three trips to Planned Parenthood before she was even in high school. It was then why she would go out late on school nights in short skirts, heels, and tight, revealing tops at fourteen to be able to afford the contraceptive pill.

Mandy had probably had it the hardest out of all of the Milkovich siblings, but in that moment, Mickey didn’t know all of that, and so Mickey truly believed that his sister was his enemy in that moment, a reminder of his inadequacy as one of Terry Milkovich’s offspring. But, jeez, Mickey would never be able to forgive himself for thinking like that once he had learnt the whole truth.

For a long while, Mickey was silent, just allowing Ian to soothe him as he felt the weight of the last week hang heavily over him. Since Ian had arrived, Mickey’s life had been turned upside down. He’d come very close to accidentally killing himself (it was embarrassing how stupid it sounded), punched through a window, been put in solitary for getting in a fight, started self-harming again. Yeah, a given because of the first in that list, but Mickey had been there for over three months since his most recent admission, and he’d been clean of self-harming for the better part of two of those. That was a win for Mickey. Whilst two months sounded like nothing, eight weeks seemed like a long time, and sixty days seemed like a marathon. And this fucking ginger kid had come and screwed that up. Rather than having his medal taken away though, this felt like Mickey had been given a bigger, more obvious medal. The loser’s medal. And he wouldn’t be able to take it off any time soon. People would see that medal and know that he was a loser – that he’d failed at not doing something. How hard could it be to not do something? Jesus, his dad fucking did it ninety percent of the day!

All of this rattled about Mickey’s head. That other guy didn’t have to deal with Ian and all of his shit, and he’d still had sex with Ian. How had Mickey picked the short straw which would set him back months?

Very slowly, Mickey looked up and asked Ian quietly, “Did you kiss?”

*** * ***

There was nothing venomous or convicting about the way Mickey had asked Ian the question. In fact, it was more childlike, and it was begging Ian to say no, to tell Mickey that he was special. And he was. He was incredibly special to Ian, probably the most important person in his life at the moment. And because of that, Ian simply nodded his head. The small, meek, dark-haired boy who was resting in his lap was so god-damned fricking important to him that he couldn’t lie to him even if he had wanted to.

Mickey was quiet. Ian felt his stomach churn with guilt as he watched the sadness come crashing over the older boy’s features like a wave. And Ian got a lot more than just spray hit him from that wave. Ian felt guilt, remorse, anger, and sadness drowning him all at once.

 _Fucking fuck!_ Ian couldn’t bear to see the disappointment plastered across Mickey’s face staring back at him, all he had seen recently was disappointment.

A deep breath. “Mickey, I’m sorry. Really. You can be mad at me, you can hate me, break up with me even. I don’t care, just… don’t look disappointed. All I get is disappointment. Lip. Fiona. Tanya. Debs. Carl. Even my real dad. Can you… can you just not do that to me please? I’m disappointed in myself enough as it is, and I don’t want to be.” Ian cleared his throat; “I know if I do… I’ll do something stupid, and I’ll be one step farther away from getting better and leaving this place, and I don’t want to do that to everyone. I don’t want to do it to me. To you...” He sighed before manoeuvring his way out from beneath Mickey, and left their room before anything more could be said. He found himself going down to the clinic and placing himself on a bed in the corner.

“Mister Gallagher, is everything okay?” Gail asked as she came towards him, tucking a pen in to her tight bun. “Have your stitches come undone?”

“No,” He shook his head as he pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them tightly.

“Then why are you here?” She persisted, sitting down at the foot of the bed he had situated himself at.

Ian began to explain the situation. He didn’t want a psychological opinion on his possibly-still-a-relationship, he wanted an honest one. He wanted a human perspective.

As Ian brought his ‘story’ to a close, he felt himself shaking slightly, his cheeks damp. “Sweets, take a deep breath and look at me. Mickey understands that you did what you did because of your condition and hypersexuality as a result, but he’s still human – and a teenage boy at that. Mickey is going to want to know out of curiosity, and it’s going to hurt him, but he still wants to know. Even though he knows it’ll hurt him, he still wants to know.” She gave Ian’s a small shrug. “Unfortunately, it’s a problem with humans. If you’re told not to look at something, you instantly look. Something we know we don’t want to know? We must.” She spoke with a warmth that was shadowed by a grin. “Mickey will forgive you if what us nurses have seen is anything to go by. He’ll forgive you, but you’ll need to earn his trust back. He may have acted like you already had, but he’s learnt some new information, and it makes it even harder. Mickey’s illness is very much an all or nothing deal when it comes to relationships. Your betrayal – kissing someone else during sex – has switched Mickey’s view of you. Deep down he still cares for you, but his mind is telling him that you’re a big no-no and that redemption is going to be a long journey.”

Ian didn’t know what to say. Gail had given him a lot of information, but he didn’t feel he could process it all in one go. Mickey was like the Pandora’s Box of Pandora’s Boxes. He was Pandora’s Box Squared, and that was more than a task to unravel and understand, like a never-ending game of Pass The Parcel. Removing one layer didn’t make it an easier task, it was just another layer to try and comprehend.

“What’s so funny?” Gail asked as Ian chuckled lightly to himself.

He was still laughing as he said “Just thinking of that bit from _Shrek_. The bit where Shrek’s all like ‘Onions have layers! Ogres have layers!’ It just makes me think of Mickey.” Ian was quite impressed by his Shrek impression if he was being honest. He’d even puffed out his chest as he had done it.

Gail giggled between words as she agreed, “Yes, it does sound a lot like our dear Mister Milkovich.”

“I know, it’s uncanny, right down to the way he speaks,” Ian chuckled to himself, thinking of his little munchkin boyfriend. Boyfriend? Hopefully boyfriend still.

Their soft laughs died down in to a soft silence in which both sat in peace for a moment. When Ian broke the silence, he felt small again: “I came here because I didn’t feel safe anywhere else. I didn’t want to be able to hurt myself or do something stupid.” He confessed this with a guilty sounding voice. Right now he wanted Fiona to just hug him and tell him that everything would be okay.

“Gail?”

“Yes, sweets?” she chirped, looking to him with an encouraging smile.

Ian rubbed a hand up the back of his neck, “I don’t know if this is against protocol or not, but… could I get a hug? I just… need one…”

“You’re right, it is against protocol for me to hug you. But I’ll sort it, okay? Give me five minutes?” And then Gail was toddling away and radioing something quietly away from Ian.

*** * ***

A pair of arms wrapped themselves around Ian from behind as he lay on his side, and he smelt the familiar musk of Mickey Milkovich. Nothing was said, Ian simply let Mickey envelop him in his warmth and hold him close, his face pressed in to the warm crook of Ian’s neck.


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey had never been good at understanding his feelings. Whether that could be credited to his B.P.D., or to growing up in the South Side with an emotionally inept father he couldn’t discern. All he could tell was that he couldn’t understand jack about what went around in his messed up head. Very often, Mickey would just flip, and it was usually because of some insignificant, tiny detail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, petals! Enjoy! Share love and such! Stay peachy, Josie x

Wednesday simply saw Ian and Mickey following their timetables and then returning to their room, holding one another close. Nothing was spoken, nothing was done. They just stayed close and comfortable, feeling each other’s warmth and support.

Mickey hadn’t completely disregarded the information that he had discovered yesterday, but he had spoken with Perry and they had come to the understanding that if Mickey were to be his stubborn self over the matter, it would end up being worse for him. He would put himself in a loop of negativity, and they both knew how that could end. Perry took a lot of time trying drill it in to Mickey that the hypersexuality was the cause, that Ian was besotted with Mickey (“He loves you, Mickey, you told me so yourself!”), and that he didn’t aim to intentionally hurt Mickey. It had been a long and gruelling process (which had overrun his session by fifteen minutes), but Perry had finally made a foot hole to start with in the rock that was Mickey and his hard-headedness.

*** * ***

“Mickey?” Ian said quietly as he ran his fingers through his boyfriend’s dark hair absentmindedly. He received a typical Milkovich grunt in response. “Do… do you hate me?” There was a silence before Mickey made a grunt of ‘no’. “Are you sure? You never… never look me in the eyes much anymore… It’s like you’re avoiding looking at me.” Ian had noticed this. With his resolution to pay more attention to Mickey and be a better boyfriend (which he seemed to be failing at in the eyes of Mickey), Ian was noticing a lot of things, not all of them things he was delighted to notice.

“I do look you in the eyes,” Mickey defended, still unable to meet the somehow unfamiliar green eyes of the ginger boy.

“You can’t even do it now, Mick...” Ian interjected sadly, his hands stopping their movements.

There was a long exhale before Mickey finally met Ian’s eyes and explained “It’s hard. Kissing is… more intimate. It’s… you don’t have a one-night-stand and kiss. Kissing is reserved for that person that annoys you and you love them for it. It’s like… it’s innocent and sweet. But it’s tender and passionate. Kissing never feels empty. It’s always fireworks and sparks, and heart confetti; blowing out candles on a cake, winning a race. Kissing is just everything exciting and… you did that with someone else.” Mickey had sat up during his definition of kissing (which was sure he would not find in a dictionary), and had used a lot of hand gestures in the explanation. “You know, apart from you, Jake was the only person I kissed. And before that, I’d never kissed anyone. Not once, like to even try it out. Kissing Jake was like coming out a cocoon and finding these big ol’ fancy fuckin’ wings of mine. Kissing was fuckin’ magic.”

“And what about me? What’s kissing me like?” Ian mumbled out, shame in his voice.

A tattooed set of knuckles caught Ian’s sight as Mickey took his face in his hand and lifted it to meet his eyes. “It was my fuckin’ favourite thing to do. The best thing I’d felt in forever. It felt like the first rain after a drought… refreshing. Tingly. Free.”

Ian could see the passion in Mickey’s eyes as he spoke, but the passion was tinted with sadness and melancholy. Ian cleared the space between them, pressing his lips against Mickey’s, reaching down to clutch at Mickey’s hand which was sitting between them on the bed. There was nothing sexual about the kiss at all, lips parted, but only to taste one another’s breaths, to breathe in the feeling that the kiss held. “Does it still feel like that?” Ian whispered after he pulled away, a single tear sitting on his eyelashes. He didn’t meet Mickey’s eyes. “Because it does for me. But… it didn’t with him.” A small pause and then “It just felt like kissing my Aunt Ginger,” Ian admitted as a small laugh rumbled through his chest. He heard Mickey’s gentle chuckle as he explained “Kissing you was new, exciting. It was magic for me too, but like a liberating magic. Discovery. Understanding. Kissing you is so special to me. And I don’t want to lose that with you. I don’t want to lose you. But… you need to understand that my meds are only just starting to properly balance me out. I was unstable and I didn’t care what I was doing. Be real. I wouldn’t have done half of what I did with you if I was sane or whatever, but I don’t regret a single thing. I care about you so much, and that’s why I wanted a do-over between us. Not to forget what happened, but to try everything for real. Because I want this to work. I want you to be one of the reasons I try to get better, to be with you even when you’re out of here and I’m not. Because I’m not well. I get that. I’m gonna’ be here for longer than they wanted me to be. And I’m okay with that. I get that. I’m only just starting to understand that, but you’re going to be gone. And that’s going to make me want to get better all the more. But I want to get better _for_ you. So that I don’t poke your big ugly monster with a stick every time I fall off the wagon. I want to control this so I’m one less thing to worry you.”

Ian’s tears had been openly falling for virtually the entirety of his ramblings, his hands desperately clutching at Mickey’s, pleading him to understand. He hadn’t even stopped for a breath, simply launching words at Mickey.

A part of Mickey was telling him not to fall for it, to just stand up and walk away. But a bigger part of Mickey was singing, screaming at him to kiss the stupid fuckin’ ginger kid and not let go for as long as he could. To hold him close and hold him tight. “Ian, you don’t know how that makes me feel. But… what if it happens again? I don’t think I could deal with that,” Mickey explained, his brow weighed down with worry.

“If I can get myself better, that won’t happen. So long as I’m healthy, I’ll never sleep with anyone else. I can promise to… completely give myself to you… if you can just believe me when I tell you that I’m all in and I’m going to try my hardest to be a worthy boyfriend for you.” Ian was honest in what he was saying. He would do anything for Mickey to be able to have him. Mickey was perfect in Ian’s eyes. Mickey was worth getting better for. That wasn’t to say his family weren’t worth it – they were beyond that – but Mickey was just… something else. Mickey was like air to Ian, like pure, concentrated oxygen. It made him light-headed and kept his body going, and that was what Mickey did to Ian.

Mickey simply stared in to those green orbs for what felt like an eternity before he finally allowed a small smile to slip across his lips as he leant forward and pulled Ian close to his chest. He hugged him hard. Harder than even Fiona had hugged him at the hospital after his episode of mania. This hug was almost soul-crushing, but in the good way. This hug was exactly what Ian wanted and needed.

“Feels like rainbows,” Mickey mumbled in to Ian’s ear as he gently pressed a kiss to it. “Rainbows, unicorns, and happy gay stuff.” The pair’s chests rumbled in unison with laughter at Mickey’s words.

*** * ***

Mickey had never been good at understanding his feelings. Whether that could be credited to his B.P.D., or to growing up in the South Side with an emotionally inept father he couldn’t discern. All he could tell was that he couldn’t understand jack about what went around in his messed up head. Very often, Mickey would just flip, and it was usually because of some insignificant, tiny detail.

Take lunch on Thursday.

It had been a normal one, with Henry absent due to being holed up in the clinic with flu being the only deviation from any other lunch. Ian was talking to James about the one time he had jacked a car with his brother, his knee resting against Mickey’s under the table, and it was just the tiniest thing ever that happened. He saw a tall blond guy from their floor watching Ian with a slight smirk on his face. It could mean anything, but Mickey’s mind went in to overdrive: that was him. That was the guy. That smug asshole had had sex with his Ian, kissed him, and now he had the audacity to look at him like that when Mickey was sitting right next to him. And now he probably imagined it, but he thought Ian briefly turned and smiled in the blond’s direction (in reality, he had turned because he thought he was going to sneeze and it had sent a shiver up his spine that made his lips twist in to a grimace). That and the fact that there was way too much mayo in his sandwich – great, some fell out the side and down his top as he took a bite – and Mickey was tired, and his head hurt, and he had been woken up by an obnoxiously loud bird, and that he had nicked his neck whilst shaving (supervised, of course, so the embarrassment was greater). All of those stupid things accumulated, causing this one incident to flip Mickey’s top. Of course, he still couldn’t fully acknowledge this concept, and so didn’t realise the significance of each minor incident. Every bit of anger which Mickey had been storing came out, and he forced himself out from between Ian and Jared, and sent his stupid plate with the stupid, fuckin’ over-mayo’d sandwich at a wall before turning and exiting the mess hall in a rush, two monitors following him. They didn’t have to follow him far, he had stopped at the end of the hall and turned to punch the wall as an outlet.

Mickey’s emotions were unpredictable, like a dormant volcano. His anger or sadness would fester around his ankles and gradually build up if there was enough nudging from the outside world. And then unexpectedly he would erupt, and it would be like World War Three. It was the part of Mickey’s disorder that really pissed him off, because he just couldn’t control it. For so long, he and Perry had tried to work on a coping mechanism to alleviate the stress and other things that provoked Mickey, but he struggled with any of Perry’s suggestions. Finding the perfect coping mechanism was like Ian’s pills, it was a constant guessing game until they found the right thing.

A pair of hands were on Mickey’s shoulders, pulling him away from his punching, and a monitor was looking at him with concern. Probably because Mickey had punched the wall enough to fuck up his fists. Oh, well, he had had worse. He was sure he’d only broken two fingers this time due to his sloppy fists.

_Terry would have pointed those poor fists out in a second._

After a quick trip to the clinic and a metaphorical slap on the wrist from Perry, Mickey was sent back to his room with bandaged knuckles, a splint and strapping on his right middle and ring finger (“What the fuck, Dawn, how’m I supposed to swear with my fingers stuck together?!” “As you’ve just demonstrated, you’re still more than capable of swearing, Mickey, now stop fussing!”), and fresh bandages on his wrists and Mickey was left to complete his therapy task in his room alone. Perry had said that people probably weren’t good for Mickey at the moment. They had briefly discussed the task, and Mickey had been asked to simply write a letter to himself to try and understand what had happened and how it had made him feel. He thought it was stupid, but he trusted Perry. The guy knew what he was doing, he had the certificates and encyclopaedias to prove it.

 

_~~DEAR~~ MICKEY,_

_WHAT THE FUCK??? WHY DID YOU DO THAT? SURE, THAT GUY LOOKED AT IAN, BUT IAN DIDN’T LOOK BACK AT HIM DELIBERATELY. THINK BACK TO IT. THAT WASN’T A SMILE, IT WAS THAT FUCKIN’ SPAZ FACE HE DOES WHEN HE CAN’T FINISH A SNEEZE. YOU KNOW THAT ONE THAT YOU THINK IS PRETTY FUCKIN’ ADORABLE BUT WON’T TELL ‘IM. YEAH, THAT ONE._

_FUCK._

_STUPID FUCKIN’ BRAIN!!!_

_ALL YOU’VE DONE IS PROBABLY CREEP IAN OUT AND MAKE ‘IM NOT WANT TO BE WITH YOU. YOU ALMOST PUSHED ‘IM AWAY WAY TOO MANY TIMES, DON’T DO IT AGAIN. THAT ~~LITTLE~~ MOTHERFUCKIN’ HUGE GINGER FRAK IS GOOD. KEEP ‘IM._

_ALSO, STOP LETTING THE LITTLE STUFF GET TO YOU. PERRY SAID THAT’S THE PROBLEM, BUT YOU STILL LET IT RILE YOU UP. JUST PUNCH SOMETHING ONCE IN A WHILE OR SCREAM. DON’T GO FULL HULKSMASH._

_DON’T FUCK SHIT UP FOR YOURSELF. SERIOUSLY, YOU HAVE SOME GOOD STUFF IN YOUR LIFE._

Mickey couldn’t even understand if he’d done what Perry was looking for or not, but he couldn’t really think of anything else to write. His head was just a big ball of self-directed rage and loathing, and there were so many thoughts buzzing around that Mickey couldn’t really pull them apart from one another to understand what he felt or why. He just had to roll with it in hopes that Perry would pull him through it.

He then laid down on his bed, pulling Ian’s copy of _Greats Expectations_ from under his pillow and trying to just detach for a while, hoping it might calm him down.

Of course, what goes up must come down, and Mickey’s mood just went from angry to sad, and he simply allowed himself to lay alone for the day, an arm draped over the edge of the bed. Ian knew that Mickey was not in the mood for talking when he arrived back from the therapy task session downstairs, and settled for picking up the discarded Dicken’s novel and finding his page as he held on to Mickey’s hand which hung down.

It wasn’t a perfect fix, but for Mickey that small gesture of understanding and caring helped a lot. He still felt sad, but he didn’t necessarily feel alone like he often did when this familiar wave of sadness usually crashed down on him. ~~~~


	27. Chapter Twenty Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re doing well,” he said softly, smiling down at his roommates. “Mickey’s never cooperated well when he’s been like this. You’re… you’re doing a good job. You must really care about him. I know he does about you.”  
> Nodding his head gently, Ian responded “I do. I’m glad he gave me another chance after I messed up. I’m glad he understands. Most people wouldn’t bother. I… I probably wouldn’t…”  
> “Mickey’s a good one, he tends to have a good judge of character and stick around if you’re worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, petals, have a chapter. I've fallen out of sync slightly. A lot of stress at home atm and I'm minorly crashing, so writing isn't an ultimate priority, but I'm trying, so just bear with me.  
> Enjoy and throw that awesome feedback you all give me that I love so much my way. Show a sister some love! Thanks, Josie x

Mickey’s stoop of sadness was a strange one for Ian. It lasted until Saturday morning, and was almost like bordering on depression. Mickey was still able to function, but there just wasn’t any heart to anything Mickey did; his voice was empty and small, his movements slow and unmotivated, and his general Mickey-ness was replaced by a different person. Ian wasn’t really sure what he could do, and assumed that it was a little like one of his episodes where he just needed to help Mickey ride out the sadness. He hoped that that was how it worked, and thought it was best not to probe Mickey with questions about how he could help. Whenever his family had tried to motivate him through his depression with food, conversation, and even rage, it had only caused him to become more resistant and deflated within himself. Ian’s support for Mickey came in silent ways, much like when he had just held his hand from his own bunk.

When Mickey came back from his individual therapy session on Friday and had collapsed on Ian’s bed, too exhausted to climb up on to his own, Ian had pulled Mickey’s sheet down to place it over him. Rather than wake him up and make him come to lunch to sit with a bunch of people who probably just fucked him off at the moment, he got permission to bring him a sandwich from the food hall (ensuring it was absent of mayo) and left it on the chest of drawers for him whilst he ate with the others. And then just before heading to his own group therapy session, he returned to their room to find Mickey laying down on the bed still. At first, Ian thought he was still sleeping, but then walked round to see the dark-haired boy staring blankly ahead, breathing deeply. The sandwich had not been touched.

“Hey, Mick, it’s time for group. I know you’re not feeling great, but it’ll help. Come on, I’ll walk you down;” he caressed Mickey’s cheek affectionately before extending a hand. Mickey was silent in taking the offered hand, allowing Ian to help him up and pull him in to a warm embrace. Nothing more was said after Ian pressed a kiss to his temple and gave him a comforting squeeze on his biceps. He left Mickey with one last reassuring squeeze, a smile, and a promise to meet him after his session.

As Ian sat in his own session, he had a sudden realisation: he was being unfair. He realised that in the way he was trying to blindly help Mickey, his family had been doing the same thing for him. They didn’t know the perfect way to help him, but they had always tried their best and never given up. And Ian was the same with the youngest Milkovich. Only because of his mental instability at the time did Ian feel as though his family had been betraying him. In reality, they had simply said what Ian had been in denial of: he had been being _just_ like Monica. Right down to his certainty that he was not acting out of sorts.

Just in the way that Ian didn’t know what was right to help Mickey, or whether he even wanted his help, he gave it because he was motivated by strong feelings. His family were motivated by an unconditional love due to their upbringing and circumstances, but Ian was motivated by this need and want to care for Mickey. Mickey had always been a victim of his dad, and Ian didn’t want to see him suffer as a victim of his disorder if he could help it. Ian was determined to help this amazing guy.

*** * ***

Ian had been right, his session had helped, but he still didn’t feel one hundred percent. A part of him still felt slightly vacant, but he was still able to light up like fireworks when he saw his ginger giant standing out in the hall waiting for him. It felt like that burning red hair was a beacon at the end of the tunnel, and he was very slowly trying to pull Mickey from his slumber. The tunnel seemed long, but this fear of the darkness, the unknown, made Mickey want to persist, to run to the end of that tunnel, even if he risked tripping on stones or falling over his own feet.

Back in their room, Mickey felt comfortable laying on Ian’s bed with his head on his chest and a lanky arm wrapped around his shoulders lightly as Ian read the final few chapters of _Great Expectations_. Mickey thought that Ian knew he wasn’t completely back to himself; he hadn’t asked Mickey to lay with him, he had just left enough space for the shorter boy and an arm laying outstretched invitingly. A small smile was visible on the corners of his lips when Mickey hopped down from his bunk and nestled himself in against his boyfriend.

They stayed like that until Ian had finished his book, almost fifteen minutes before dinner.

When Ian looked down, Mickey had just drifted off and was looking as peaceful and relaxed as he had in nearly a week. Ian was pulled from his gazing at Mickey by a paranoid feeling of being watched. Jared was looking at them with a smile.

“What?” Ian probed, raising an eyebrow at the boy on the top bunk, his voice soft enough to not wake Mickey.

Jared shrugged his shoulders, “You’re doing well,” he said softly, smiling down at his roommates. “Mickey’s never cooperated well when he’s been like this. You’re… you’re doing a good job. You must really care about him. I know he does about you.”

Nodding his head gently, Ian responded “I do. I’m glad he gave me another chance after I messed up. I’m glad he understands. Most people wouldn’t bother. I… I probably wouldn’t…”

“Mickey’s a good one, he tends to have a good judge of character and stick around if you’re worth it.”

Ian didn’t respond, he just looked back down at Mickey adoringly.

*** * ***

It seemed ridiculous that one date could seem so daunting to Mickey, but once that four-week marker rolled round, once Ian was no longer legally obliged to stay, Mickey felt a pulling sensation in his stomach. It felt like puppet strings in reverse, they held him down to the ground, tugged him so forcefully downwards that Mickey hit the floor with a crash. Luckily, he had prepared for this, though; Perry had noticed Mickey’s anxiety the week building up to it, and they had discussed it to great lengths and upped his anti-depressant dosage. Sure, Ian didn’t _have_ to stay at the hospital any more, but he may decide to. Ian _wanted_ to get better, he was looking at his illness through the clearest, most expensive pair of glasses the North Side could buy, so he may decide he needed more time there. However, Mickey wasn’t blind, and he had noticed just how much progress Ian had been making. Lip and he were on regular phone calls, and he was even coming to visit on Sunday. A part of Mickey said he was coming and taking him away though, not just to visit. Long and short: Sunday was even more terrifying to Mickey than Ian’s fifth Wednesday with him.

The morning Mickey woke up, he spent a solid fifteen minutes contemplating his options, and whether or not he should be worried. His mind briefly ran amuck and let every worry and smidgen of anxiety air itself, but then he mentally slapped himself back to life and thought that it didn’t matter. If this _was_ Ian’s last day, Mickey was going to make it a good day, for both of them. He let himself slip down from his bunk, the wind outside whistling quietly against the small window, making Mickey shiver silently.

With an arm stretched above his head, the other tucked under his sheets, Mickey thought Ian looked perfect. Sure, he could see one huge imperfection marring Ian’s perfectly pale skin. Hell, it was staring him in the face every day since Ian’s bandages had been taken off, the ugly red gash slicing through Mickey’s own skin at each glance – through his heart – but it was a part of Ian now, and it was perfect in a bittersweet – completely twisted – way. There was tousled ginger hair almost blinding Ian it had grown out so long, a strangely attractive beard framing those full, beautiful lips, and an expression so innocent and cherub-like it shouldn’t have been on that muscular face which had witnessed far too much for the owner’s years.

Mickey took Ian’s strong hand in his own for a moment, letting a finger lightly slide down Ian’s arm, running parallel with the healing wound, crossing the paths of several veins and arteries. Pulling back the sheets on the younger boy’s bed, Mickey found Ian to be waiting for him, and it was perfect. He almost felt himself salivating. The dark-haired boy knelt between Ian’s legs, sliding his boxers over his firm erection before leaning down and firmly licking a long, thick stripe up Ian’s cock, rousing a contented yet tired moan from the aforementioned. Slowly, Mickey engulfed Ian’s length, relaxing and exhaling through his nose before he felt coarse, ginger hairs brushing against the tip of it. Mickey could almost feel himself smirking around Ian’s cock as he let out a long, low moan, sending vibrations right through to Ian’s pelvis. Sliding up to the tip, his lips and tongue moving ever so lightly sent Ian’s internal alarms off.

“Wha-?” The ginger boy mumbled as he sat up on one elbow. He was met by a pair of icy blue eyes, which at the same time seemed dark and clouded with lust and want. “Mornin’,” he managed out through a sharp breath as Mickey sank back down on him, using his teeth slightly, just enough to make Ian moan. As fast as it rose, the ginger head returned to the pillow, teeth sinking in to the owner’s bottom lip out of pleasure. The way that Ian writhed ever so slightly under Mickey’s hands, which sat on his hips, sent blood south, and then Mickey even farther south. Ever so tantalisingly, Mickey’s tongue slipped lower before forcefully entering Ian’s puckered hole with an eager grunt. Mickey was licking and nipping at Ian’s hole so hungrily that anyone would think the boy was starved. By now, Ian was making enough noise to have driven Jared, ever the light sleeper, out of the room for an early shower, whilst James continued to snore away, oblivious to his surroundings.

“Mickey…” Ian was able to utter as he squirmed beneath the dark-haired boy. “I’m not gonna’- ah! I won’t last!”

In an instant, Mickey looked up to him, letting his finger tease Ian as he asked with a devilish grin, “Do you trust me?”

“With your finger up my ass and my dick in your face? I’m gonna’ say yes,” Ian half-laughed, leaning in to Mickey’s finger before it was gone and replaced with the tongue gifted to Mickey by Gods. It wasn’t long before Ian was coming heavily in to Mickey’s mouth with a string of obscenities and his hands grasping at Mickey’s hair. Only then was James woken up, and it was less than a second of disorientation before the shaggy-haired boy was up and darting from the shared room, moving more quickly than he ever had upon waking. If the pair hadn’t been so heavily engrossed in their activities, they might have stopped to poke fun at their mousy roommate.

As Ian was still coming, Mickey was working him open eagerly, trying so hard not to come himself. “Can you…?” Mickey asked, looking down to his pulsating length which was gagging for Ian’s warmth. Quickly, Ian was up and taking Mickey’s length in to his mouth, but only to leave enough saliva for lubrication. As soon as he had had the dark-haired boy’s cock in his mouth it was out, and Ian was laying on his back with his legs spread apart again, looking up at Mickey hungrily.

It felt weird to Mickey, being the one with all of the control in the pair when it came to sex, but he was enjoying it.

Ever so slowly, Mickey pressed the tip of his throbbing member against Ian’s wanton hole. Mickey laced his fingers with Ian’s, squeezing the ginger boy’s long, strong fingers in his own whilst slowly easing in to Ian, peppering kisses along his neck and lips to keep his attention through the intrusion.

“Mmm, perfect…” Mickey mumbled in to Ian’s ear softly, nipping at the lobe sharply. Mickey’s pelvis was snug against where Ian’s cheeks became his thighs, their skin flushed and sweaty.

A short exhale slipped between Ian’s lips before he looked up to Mickey meekly, “Move. Now.”

And then Mickey was pounding in to Ian, causing him to grunt, partially in pain, but mostly in pleasure. Most couples would have been ever so gentle when the person bottoming was doing so for the first time, but that wasn’t Ian and Mickey. Instantly, they knew there was a hostile side to their sex life – one which they both revelled in and were thankful for. When he had been with Daya, Ian had always had to be gentle; she was such a slender, slim young lady – with the _hugest_ rack Ian had come across in a long time – but Ian had always feared hurting her. With Mickey, there wasn’t a weaker one, they were both strong, firm men, and were both more than capable of receiving as much as they wished to give. It was exhilarating and liberating on Ian’s part.

The final act that morning was fast, hard, and pleasurable, and found both men exhausted afterwards. Mickey lay atop Ian, holding him close, not wanting to let him go. Mickey bit his lip hard, trying not to cry as he was reminded that Ian was leaving today. He was leaving Mickey, and he was going to be going back to his precious fucking Daya!

Ian didn’t notice the tear that had escaped, mistaking it for a bead of sweat which had trickled down Mickey’s firm forehead.

*** * ***

That Wednesday was a long one for Ian. Getting anywhere was doubled in duration due to his pain in walking; and the day just seemed to drag due to Ian being fixated on a certain someone whom he had not seen since before breakfast, not even during their therapy task session in the hall.

It was only during active searching that Ian found Mickey in the library once again, but this time he was sitting with his head in a book, his back hunched, hiding himself from the world. As Ian neared the shrouded boy, he saw that the book he was clutching was a part of J. K. Rowling’s _Harry Potter_ series. It looked particularly thin in comparison if Ian’s memory served him well, so he assumed it was one of the first three.

_Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets._

“Which bit are you up to?” Ian asked in a soft voice as he sat down on the couch next to Mickey.

Letting his head fall against Ian’s shoulder, Mickey shrugged lightly, “Not sure. Not really been payin’ attention. You know like when they made you all read a book in class and people read aloud and you heard it but didn’t _actually_ hear it. Yeah, I’ve been doing the readin’ of that. Just keepin’ my brain busy.” The dark-haired boy’s voice was small and hollow.

Ian wrapped his arm around Mickey’s shoulders, pressing a kiss in to his hair, leaving his mouth leaning there as he asked “What’s up, Mick?”

Another shrug and a grumble fell out of Mickey’s lips.

“Okay, well, I’m always here if you need me,” Ian declared as he pulled Mickey close, simply holding the sad-looking boy impossibly close.

They sat there the pair of them until dinner, Mickey waiting for Ian to suddenly state that he needed to leave as he was being picked up. But he never did. He didn’t even try to get away from Mickey, he just comforted him silently, whispering small endearments in to his hair or pressing light kisses there. It was nothing. And equally it was everything to Mickey.

“Please don’t leave me,” Mickey had whispered quietly to himself, not realising he was doing it.

Ian stroked Mickey’s soft, dark locks affectionately as he squeezed Mickey once more, telling him that he would not leave Mickey’s side for as long as Mickey would allow him. He would wait for him if needed, and inversely he would try to his hardest to get better for Mickey, to be able to leave with him.

Ian loved the boy in his arms, and he made sure that he was aware of it.


	28. Chapter Twenty Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian was proof of that.  
> In trying to help Ian, Mickey had gotten involved and managed to make himself worse.  
> But that wouldn’t be an issue anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies. I assume we all know this rodeo, so I don't need to apologise or explain why this has taken forever, just read back at the past few A/Ns and I'm sure they'll probably still be relevant. Anyways, enjoy. Thanks, Josie x

_Maybe today._

_No._

_Today_ will _be the day._

_You’ll wake up and he won’t be there._

_His bed will be empty and he’ll be gone._

_He’ll leave you forever._

_Just like Jake._

Every morning since that Wednesday, Mickey was roused from his sleep by these harsh whisperings passing between his ears like a bitter winter wind. It wasn’t dissimilar to a slap across the face, or a pistol-whipping from Terry. A punch in the gut. Because each morning Mickey woke up winded, unable to breathe, grasping at his throat, clawing at his airway desperately. It felt like drowning and suffocating, all whilst falling from a cliff to his death. It was an indescribable pain which tormented Mickey upon waking.

The restless nights filled with insomnia were starting to become more apparent: dark, heavy bags pulled Mickey’s face down, his eyes were bloodshot, and he was struggling to concentrate – more importantly, struggling to see reason or logic.

Perry was noticing that the lack of sleep was causing Mickey to hallucinate to some extent, to speak illogically, and to act out of sorts. The young man had not spoken out of any anxiety, but it was clear in how Mickey frequently itched at his neck, to the point that there were scabs where the skin was being broken and bleeding. He had even been zoning out during their sessions, simply staring over Perry’s shoulder for minutes on end without realising, not even noticing that he had been asked a question. There were other things, but these had been particularly evident to Perry.

It was Monday morning when Perry finally broached the issue. He had perhaps thought that Mickey was having a difficult couple of days, as he sometimes did. The difference was that he usually told Perry about them. However, he had not seen Mickey for their Wednesday session due to him skipping it, and by Friday he had had to assume was the beginning of an episode. That session had more been Mickey simply struggling to concentrate to answer any questions, no matter how much Perry probed. He hadn’t seen Mickey struggle for longer than three days, so when he walked in on that rainy morning, his eyes heavy and his fists clenched, Perry took a firmer approach. He was getting answers.

“Mickey!”

The young Milkovich was pulled from his internal conflict by his therapist saying his name sharply, placing a hand on his arm. He snatched his suddenly hot and itchy arm back, looking to the large man accusingly, his brows furrowed.

“What?” He asked slowly, once he had shaken himself away from the shock.

“Mickey, you’ve been off for a few days, what’s happening? What are you thinking about?” Perry asked, sitting back in his seat to watch Mickey’s full response. He wanted to see how he sat, how he held himself, how he acted subconsciously.

“Ian’s gonna’ leave,” he managed to utter after a nearly-five-minute-long internal conflict on whether to tell Perry or not. But then he realised that Perry had never done him wrong. Perry may even have information about Ian!

Perry nodded his head, “He will leave here at some point, yes, and so will you. Everyone will. Why is that an issue?”

“He’s gonna’ leave _me_ , Perry! He’s gonna’ leave me like everyone does, and then what am I gonna’ do? I can’t… I _need_ him! I can’t lose him! He’s… he’s… Perry, he’s _mine_! I love him, I can’t lose him. He can’t leave. He’ll go back to her, and then I’ll never see him again. He’s supposed to be with me, he’s meant to.” Mickey wasn’t so sure he was speaking sense, more so just rambling what he was thinking at a mile a minute. When he finally stopped, he was shaking, his eyes brimmed with tears, gripping the arms of the chair he was sitting on to the point of his knuckles being white.

Perry sat forward, his face earnest, hiding his concern, and said “Mickey, we’ve spoken about this; Ian is his own person with his own life, and he may leave here before you, or he may leave after you, but if he cares about you as he seems to show, then he will stay in contact with you.” A slow sigh, “We’ve also discussed the fact that as deeply as you care for a person, you cannot own them, no matter what. All you can do is try to understand these things and rationalise with yourself when these thoughts occur. Mickey, you have to remember what a healthy relationship is and how both parties contribute and stand within it, okay?”

The continuation of their session was Perry trying to help Mickey understand the voices in his head and to remind him that those voices were an internal manifestation of his anxiety and unease. They looked in to new methods of trying to ground himself when the anxiety tried to overtake him. It was weird to Mickey, but Perry had suggested that perhaps trying to override his auditory system may be one way for Mickey to stop the voices when they became too invasive or overbearing. And so, when Mickey felt unable to talk to others, to focus on another conversation, Perry had ordered a simple MP3 for Mickey to keep with him when it arrived.

Of course, Mickey still found himself struggling with the worry of waking and finding Ian gone, but later that week, Perry prescribed a short course of medication to help Mickey sleep. The young man had all but fallen asleep during their session on Wednesday.

*** * ***

Ian had noticed Mickey’s worry and nerves through the week, and he had tried his hardest to help him as much as he was able. Trying to wake up early enough to wake Mickey before his anxiety woke him, trying to leave his sessions a few minutes early so that he could wait for his boyfriend to finish his own sessions, and trying to remind Mickey as much as he could that he wasn’t leaving was all that Ian could do.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough.

It wouldn’t be enough. Ever.

Ian wasn’t helping Mickey, if anything, he was making him worse. And that was a burden to Ian unto itself. Trying to take care of Mickey made it harder for Ian to think about the little things for himself that helped him, and he was slowly noticing it. He needed to be able to think for himself for a short while, to just focus on making himself better without inhibiting his recovery by trying to take care of Mickey.

Come Friday lunch time, Ian left the table unannounced, and made his way up to Beech and towards Perry’s office, his feet willing him to turn back. Hesitantly, he knocked on the door, entering the room when the therapist’s warm, inviting voice told him to come in.

“Ian? Hi. Come, take a seat,” Perry said, a smile on his face as he placed his sandwich down on to a plate and turned to the seat which Ian assumed Mickey would sit in during his therapy sessions. He sent Perry a half-hearted smile. “Is everything okay?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Ian mumbled out a response, his voice smaller than his boyfriend, “Umm, yeah. Yeah,” he ran a hand through his hair before settling his hands in to his lap where he began to agitatedly fidget. “I… I… umm.” An exasperated sigh completed Ian’s broken sentence. “Obviously you know that Mickey and me are a thing, b-”

“What thing is that?” Perry interrupted, sitting forward in his seat slightly.

“We’re boyfriends… has he not mentioned it?”

Perry nodded as he smiled, “Yes, I just wanted to see that you both had a mutual understanding of your relationship. If you didn’t, it might have been beneficial to see which of you was misunderstanding the situation and why.” He cleared his throat slightly, sitting back in his large office chair “Sorry, please continue.”

The ginger locks bounced about as Ian nodded before continuing to speak, “So, yeah, we’re a thing, and I’ve noticed he’s getting bad. And he’s worried I’m gonna’ leave for some reason, and I don’t want to leave him, but I’m worried about him so much that I don’t have time to worry about myself, and I think me being here is going to end up making both of us worse. And I love him, and I don’t want to leave him, but I want us both to get better, so I wanted to know whether you thought me leaving would possibly help him get better.” Ian finally stopped, taking in a few short breaths. He had been neglecting breathing, opting for rushing out what he wanted to say in one fell swoop.

“I know, he’d be upset at first, so I’d like to think you would put extra precautions in place until he was able to understand. But I think we need the distance to get better. I need to leave because he needs to be here. He put himself here to be safe from his dad and to get himself better. I… I can get better at home. I have loads of family, and we’ve dealt with Bipolar before. Our mom has it, so my family know how to help me. I dunno’, maybe I could get some of the external therapy shit Mickey told me about. He… I… I don’t want him to get worse, he was doing well, and he needs to get better before we can carry this o-”

“Ian.” Perry said firmly. Without noticing, Ian had been scratching at the now-revealed wounds on his arms. Luckily, the larger man had noticed Ian’s anxiety, and he had sat forward and taken Ian’s hands in his own to discourage this. “I can see how much you care for Mickey. You’re becoming anxious just trying to think of a way to help him. But you need to calm down.” The soft grip on Ian’s hands relaxed, and Perry took his hands back. “This isn’t something I can advise on; I’m not aware of how you are coping at current. Tanya and I will only liaise if we think that there is an issue between the pair of you, wherein you are affecting one another’s recovery. This is the only thing we discuss – and how to resolve it – but we can’t discuss every single thing we observe or discuss with you in these meeting unless, like I said, it’s having an impact.” Perry took a drink from the glass on his desk before continuing to speak, all the time keeping an eye on Ian’s hands. “We have discussed Mickey’s recent anxiety, for reasons which I’m sure you are aware, and are currently brainstorming ways to resolve this. However, I cannot guide you in any which way with regards to leaving. Like I’ve said, that is for yourself and Tanya to discuss.”

Ian was slightly taken aback. After a moment of processing what had been said, Ian nodded his head and stood up to make his way out of the room, muttering a short ‘thanks’ to the man.

“Ian,” Perry called out as Ian was about to close the door, and you the young man stopped and turned to answer his name. “Your thinking is admirable, but you shouldn’t be thinking of leaving here until you feel you have recovered and adjusted well to your medication, and have coping mechanisms and action plans set in place for if a crisis occurs.” Ian nodded briefly before closing the door behind himself and leaving the room.

Elm was quiet at this time of day.

Lunch was just coming to a close, so the patients were collecting any medication or making their way towards their afternoon session. It could be heard that it was a Friday, though, the chatter of family or friends coming carried from down on Willow, being heard as a heavy hum up in Elm. Ian paced back and forth about his shared room in thought for a while, feeling as though his head were in the clouds. No, that wasn’t true. His head had been in the clouds before, and he was more than certain it hadn’t felt like this. There had been no uncertainty when Ian had jumped from that window. No, he had known at the moment that that was what he had needed to do. His head had known. Sure, he had been manic then, but he always seemed to be very sure of things when he was manic. There was never any of this willy-nilly faffing around like when he was medicated.

There was a cough somewhere along the hall which pulled him from his thoughts. Ian ran his hands through his hair before haphazardly beginning to move about the room, looking for his personal belongings.

*** * ***

Mickey was aware that Ian had left the dining table, but he and Perry had spoken about how he had to understand that Ian was very much contented with Mickey, and that he didn’t appear to want to be leaving any time soon. Nonetheless, there was still a ripple of unease riding through Mickey’s nervous system, like the aftershock post-earthquake. It was just paranoia manifesting as a result of his anxiety, Mickey was well aware that that happened frequently. Nonetheless, he still struggled to rationalise his anxieties. But this time he fought past those worries, and he continued to eat his lunch with his friends before heading for his afternoon group therapy session.

“I, ah, I been feelin’ really nervous. I think Ian’s gonna’ leave me, think he’s just gonna’ go and not even give me a second look.” The more Mickey said it, the more it seemed like a very plausible and feasible reaction from Ian.

After all, Mickey was just… a phase.

Ian was straight.

He loved Daya.

“Why do you think that, Mickey?” The therapy leader asked, sitting forward slightly to give Mickey her attention as he proceeded to explain himself a little better. But before he was able to speak, a familiar voice took the spotlight from the young Milkovich child.

Oh, and if it wasn’t that fucking great blond bear from last time he’d spoken about Ian under serious circumstances. “Why the fuck are you acting like a little bitch about him leaving?”

Standing up, pushing his chest out slightly and his shoulders back, Mickey all but spat at the other boy. “Okay, you need to shut the fuck up! Your nose looks like it’s still only just starting to set properly, and I can still see your fuckin’ blood through those stitches, so you’ll bleed pretty easy. You want those stitches to stay fuckin’ closed, don’t talk to me, asshole!”

The blond guy laughed before saying “Dude, I could squish you under my big toe. I’m just saying, maybe you’re better off without him, ‘cause he’ll probably just do it again.”

Mickey was about to go across the room and nut the guy in to last year, but before he could, the younger blond boy with the large-rimmed glasses stood up and kneed this burly boy directly in the testicles, sending him to the floor, his eyes instantly watering as he cupped himself.

“He won’t. He likes you. I see him. He’s always here at least ten minutes early to wait for you. He’s good,” the small boy said, smiling as Mickey crossed the circle to slap him on the back as way of man-approval and thanks. “Andy,” the small boy replied when Mickey asked his name as the pair walked out of the room to meet the monitors who would be coming to escort them from the session. Mickey had kicked off in sessions more often than not, so he, and every other person in is group therapy, knew what happened when you attacked others or were a potential risk to others.

The more Mickey looked at that kid, the more he grew to like him. Maybe it was because when he said his name it sounded a lot like how he had called his sister when he was young: _Mmmmmmm…aaaandy_. So, maybe he had been a little slow when he was toddling, but he had always loved and wanted to protect his sister. Now, he was no longer able to protect her, because he had had to self-admit in to this dump to protect himself from his thoughts, himself, and his dad. He may not be able to protect Mandy at the moment, but he could definitely try to protect Andy. Sure, eh had no idea what troubled the kind boy, but he would protect him from whatever it was.

“Hey, man, I’m sorry, I’m a selfish prick and I don’t really listen in the group therapy unless I’m being spoken to. What… what is it that you’re in here for? If… uh, if you don’t mind me asking.”

Andy suddenly looked down ashamedly, pulling the sleeves of his baggy grey sweatshirt down uncomfortably. “I… BDD with Anorexia…” he mumbled, itching his left forearm persistently.

“Is that the body dis…” Mickey started, apologising for not knowing the full medical name. “If you don’t mind me askin’, how old are you?”

“I’m fourteen. Been here for two birthdays,” Andy replied, looking down. “I… I want to. Be better I mean, but I can’t. I repulse myself. I can’t even shower alone. Have to have someone watch me in case I try to hurt myself more,” he continued, “I’m pathetic.”

With that conclusion, Mickey pulled the young boy in to his arms. He didn’t know what compelled him to do it, but the child was so small and hurting so badly that Mickey didn’t know what else to do. Sympathy, empathy, compassion, they weren’t always his strong points, and when he tried to give some form of any of them, he usually ended up making things worse. Only when he hugged the young blond did he manage to feel every bone which kept the boy standing. It almost made Mickey want to cry. How could someone so young and so kind have so much self-hatred and so much anger directed at themselves? He couldn’t understand it, this boy didn’t deserve a life like this, he deserved to grow up happily riding his bike and playing in fucking tress.

“How… how do you hurt yourself?” Mickey wasn’t quite sure what was compelling him to ask these questions, but he did. And he instantly regretted asking because, truthfully, he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know this boy’s skeletons, because he would want to bury them all for him, and in a place like this, it was never possible to do that. You could never help others in the same situation as you.

Ian was proof of that.

In trying to help Ian, Mickey had gotten involved and managed to make himself worse.

But that wouldn’t be an issue anymore.


End file.
